Do The Math
by Route67
Summary: When a lecture hall at CalSci is bombed, Charlie is shaken but determined to assist with the case. As the mystery unfolds, however, Don begins to realize that all the clues involve Charlie. 3 Bombs, 12 Days, 4 Futures…1 Target.
1. One

**Do The Math**

* * *

**Title: **Do The Math

**Rating: **T / PG-13 (for minor violence and peril)

**Summery: **When a lecture hall at CalSci is bombed, Charlie is shaken but determined to assist with the case. As the mystery unfolds, however, Don begins to realize that all the clues involve Charlie. 3 Bombs, 12 Days, 4 Futures…1 Target.

**Legal Disclaimer: **I do not own the Eppes, CalSci or any of the other original characters or locations from the TV show, "Numb3rs". They are the property of CBS and its associates. I also do not own the rights to official titles such as the FBI, WITSEC, the LA Museum of Art or any other recognizable establishments and locations. This piece of fiction is purely for entertainment and is in no way to reflect on any of these organizations.

**Author's Disclaimer: **I am a high school student and a huge fan of the show, "Numb3rs". I am not, however, a math genius. Despite my best efforts to research all mathematical concepts and methods used, one who is better educated than I myself may easily find "errors in my data" (as Charlie would say) and for that, I do apologize.

**Feedback: **Oh! Well what a great idea! How incredibly thoughtful, that'd be lovely. You're so smart. _lol…_

- - - - -

3 Bombs

12 Days

4 Futures

1 Target

**California Institute of Science, 9:58 pm**

The dim, yellow lights poured warmly onto row after row of empty seats. A banner at the front of the impressive room declared: "Extremal Combinatorics: Ramsey Theory and Computer Security". The clear board was peppered with equations and at the top of the board, written in bold, red marker: _Professor Charles Eppes_.

The only sound in the whole room was a steady _tic tic tic_ that would be inaudible, were it not so still. A small, red light could just barely be seen under the lectern at the front of the hall, blinking dully at steady intervals.

Across campus, a dozen students flinched as the windows of the Blaise Pascal lecture hall blew, sending glass flying twenty feet in each direction. Someone screamed, "It's a bomb!" panic ensued, and by the time the FBI got there (VFD, police department and bomb squad in-toe), half of CalSci was standing about campus, watching in horror as the lecture hall burned.

- - - - -

There was a hesitant tap at the door. Charlie rolled over, pulling the covers up to his shoulders, and mumbled loudly, "You really don't have to keep checking on me, I'm feeling better."

"Now that's a curious statement," Charlie turned around, surprised. "We are accustomed to saying we feel better or worse, but without allowing for a basis of comparison, it's really impossible to state anything as better, worse, or really of being at all. Exasperating that one must technically master the concept of special and general relativity before you can make even the most basic generalization."

Charlie grinned. "Hi Larry."

Larry swung the book bag off his left shoulder, the laptop bag off his right, and sat down in the chair next to Charlie's bed. "When I heard that Professor Eppes was canceling his lecture on the radical, albeit slightly naïve theory of mathematical password protection, I don't know…I sort of expected to find you in here with Leishmaniasis." Charlie just stared impassively back and Larry clarified, "Black fever."

"When could I have possibly come in contact with sand fleas, Larry…"

Larry put his hands up defensively. "I was merely pointing out that I expected to find you more lethargic than you are. It's not a disappointment, mind you," he added cheerfully.

Charlie smiled, tousling his all ready messy hair. "Yeah, well trust me, I didn't want to cancel over a fever either, but when I threw up half my breakfast, Dad said he wouldn't let me go."

Larry bounced his thumbs off each other. "Forgive me, but aren't you a grown adult, Charles?"

"He hid my keys, what was I supposed to do? I all ready talked to the board and personally apologized to some of the professors who were going to be there." He sat up, rubbing his eyes blearily, then paused. "Hey wait a second, aren't you supposed to be doing your class in…" he glanced down at his watch. "Right now?"

Larry shook his head, "I traded hours with Professor St. James so I could…well, muse."

Charlie hid a smile. "Muse."

"Don't judge me prematurely, you would do well to break away from structure once in awhile, it's the only way you reaffirm a grasp on the unfathomable."

Charlie climbed out of bed as he talked, and gripped the bookshelf, pressing a sweaty palm to his forehead. "Currently I'd be okay with having a grasp on gravity."

The door opened suddenly. "Charlie, what do you think you're doing?"

Charlie looked up to see his dad standing in the doorway. "What, does…does an alarm go off in the living room if I get out of bed?"

"Get back into that bed," Alan interrupted. Charlie groaned, rubbing his forehead.

"Dad, I'm not-"

"Here, I'll help you…"

"I'm not going to get better playing invalid all day long. I need to keep my system running-"

"No, no, you need to get some sleep. Ask any doctor, they'll tell you the same thing: Water and rest." Alan directed him back to his bed, pushing him down and throwing the thick blankets back on.

Charlie scowled, trying to bat him away. "No- Dad I don't want them."

"You need to stay warm."

"I'm burning up as it is!"

"Exactly, that's what happens when you have a fever." His dad patted him on the knee. "I'm going to go make you some soup. Okay?"

Charlie simmered then forced a smile. "Kay. Thanks."

"Can I get you anything, Larry?"

"Thank you Alan, I'm fine."

"Suit yourself." He closed the door behind him, and the smile vanished from Charlie's face. He aimed an accusing finger at the door.

"He's been like that all day. He won't let me get out of bed, he keeps making me drink water, eat soup, take Tylenol…"

"He's just trying to help. It's in a parent's nature to coddle their children in times of illness, even when they're thirty-year-old children."

"Amita got the same thing a week ago, and she was only out of commission for an afternoon…" Charlie grumbled.

"Amita didn't have somebody to make her stay in bed, or else she wouldn't have come down with it again."

Charlie blinked. "She got it again? Isn't that impossible?"

"Unlikely, most definitely. But once you step beyond that one restraint…" Larry raised his palms in that 'nothing is impossible' way. Charlie decided to get back to the original topic.

"I don't know, it's not my dad's fault or anything, and I'm grateful that he cares so much." He let that sit for a few moments, then went on. "But I'm just- I'm going nuts sitting in this tiny- hot- stuffy room." He kicked the blankets off him defiantly, and huffed. Larry looked amused which irritated him. "What?"

"I was just thinking about how fascinating-"

Charlie held up a hand, "Actually, Larry, I'm really not in the mood."

Larry shrugged and turned his chair around so he could rest his arms on the back. "Well, if it would help, you could assist me in my quandary."

"How's that?"

Larry scratched his palm absently, then began to speak slowly as though the words were coming to him as he went. "Tell me something, Charles. If you asked a doctor what his favorite memory was, do you suppose it would be the day his mother was saved from cancer? Or put it in more personal terms, if you asked me about the best gift I was ever given, would I tell you it was a telescope?"

Charlie seemed taken aback. "Social and relational studies? Professor Fleinhardt, I'm surprised. I mean…you're talking basic characteristics, personality qualities."

"Not entirely. I'm talking about how we assign high values to favorite memories, childhood traditions and even unpleasant memories. If a young man remembers how it felt when a doctor told him his mother was going live, he would think of himself as someone who truly appreciates medicine. It's just one of the many pieces that contributed to his own diploma."

"So you're saying you can predict a person's vocation based on a good memory?" Larry gave an 'if you want to put it that way' sort of shrug. Charlie thought a moment. "It's good in theory, but you're the one who once said humans always come with an element of unpredictability."

"You of all people, Charles, should see the significance that certain events have on a person's life choices. What makes a killer? Memories and emotions pent up over years and years. Based upon basic choices and memories a human has made, we could learn volumes about the person they are today. It's uh, well it's like stars." Charlie sighed audibly. With Larry, it was always about stars eventually. Maybe he was just feeling cranky.

Larry cleared his throat patiently. "Now bear with me, Charles. Tracking a person's life is complex but never impossible. It takes the light from Proxima Centuri 4.2 years to reach Earth, but does that mean it is impossible to determine when that star was born? Of course not."

"Okay, sure," Charlie leaned forward. "So tell me…what's your worst memory?"

Larry got a faraway look in his eye that lasted for a very long time. Then, about when Charlie was beginning to wish he hadn't asked, he seemed to snap out of himself. "Well unless you really must know, I'd rather try it on you."

Charlie blinked. "Uh…"

"Unless you're uncomfortable." Larry made to get out of his chair. "I could go help your father prepare your soup, I actually make a really good-"

"Larry, I have nothing to hide." He made a look Don often described as his 'impish grin'. "Try me."

"All right, fine, soup can wait," Larry sat back down, failing to conceal a triumphant smile. "I want you to dig back and tell me what is truly one of the most difficult memories you can think of. One that just comes to mind when I ask." Charlie wrinkled his brow in thought. "Don't think about it too much, just enough to be sure you picked a particularly relevant one."

"Okay. I have it." Larry nodded and waited. "What you- you want me to tell you?"

"We could attempt Fredric Myers' bodily impossible solution of telepathy, but I just figured with you feeling under the weather-"

"Yeah yeah," Charlie grinned, sitting up straight. "Uh, okay…well, I was probably ten years old, and this…this little punk of a kid, Travis Roberns, had threatened to beat me up. So I told Don he had to show up early to walk me home that day, cause, you know I didn't want to be alone when Travis came to collect. But uh…Don didn't show. My dad ended up picking me up from the school nurse. He had this look of…just utter shock all over his face. I'd never seen him so upset, so…" he shrugged again, brushing it off. "It wasn't bad, you know, I had a black eye, couple bruises…I guess that's the first time I ever busted a tooth. But uh…the tough part was when Don got home that night. He said he'd had extra work at school, which was why he didn't walk me home. He was so apologetic…and I remember feeling just so guilty for thinking all day that that beating was his fault."

He glanced at Larry for the first time. He looked pensive, hands clasped behind his neck, elbows resting on the back of the chair. Charlie felt a little impatient, his light-headedness and the unpleasant memory both messing with his mood. "Any chance you'll share your results with me, professor?" When Larry didn't respond, he added, "I don't see how you can draw any sort of conclusions from a story like that."

"Your intense guilt on your brother's behalf, your dependence on both his and your father's emotional stability…both speak volumes about you, Charles."

Charlie couldn't think how to respond to that.

- - - - -

"Don? Don." Don snapped out of his thoughts.

"Sorry, David. What've you got?"

David shook his head, brushing soot off the arms of his coat. "It's a real mess. Maybe ten, twelve pounds of C4. Bomb squad says the place is clean, and we finished cornering off the area."

"So they've confirmed that this is the same guys who did the grocery store and restaurant last week?"

David nodded. "LAPD's officially turning the case to us now. They're thinking organized crime."

"Yeah well a pattern doesn't mean it's organized, but it's worth considering. The police told me zero casualties, no one was in the building."

"Yeah, and it's what makes this entire thing so strange."

Don nodded, surveying the charred walls of the once-impressive lecture hall. "If it was an act of terrorism or a group of some kind, you'd think they would have attacked a roomful of people."

Megan approached them at that moment, stuffing latex gloves in her pocket. "Unless they meant to get a roomful of people and they missed it." The two of them looked at her. "I just spoke to the events coordinator. Don, Charlie was supposed to give a lecture this morning."

"Yeah I know, he woke up in the middle of the night with a fever, had to stay home." He shrugged. "But Charlie's lectures are always at the uh- the Everhart hall." He waved his hand towards the north. "That's way across campus."

"Not today. This was a big deal to CalSci, they had a lot of important professors coming, they reserved the biggest hall for him."

"So…what, you're telling me that the bombers targeted Charlie's lecture?"

Megan shook her head. "Well it doesn't explain the previous bombings, but based on the bare facts we have here, it's certainly starting to look that way."

"Don!" Colby came running up behind Don before he could reply to this new information. "It's definitely the same guys." He held out a sooty strip of cloth. "It was tide to the plastic binder, just like the grocery and restaurant bombs."

Don nodded, reading the cloth, all ready knowing what it'd say. **FREE OUR BRO. **"I'm thinking the LAPD are right on with that hunch."

"So-" Colby looked at Megan. "Someone told me that someone had a…mathematical computer security lecture here today?"

"Yeah," David interjected before Megan could answer. "Charlie."

Colby's eyebrows rose. "Woah…well-" he looked at Don whose thoughts appeared to be elsewhere. "Charlie sure chooses a good time to get sick."

- - - - -


	2. Two

- - - - -

"Hey, Dad? Charlie?" Don shed his coat and threw it over the back of the couch, moving into the dining room, then heading upstairs. He saw shadows moving under Charlie's door, and opened it. Charlie was still in his pajamas, and he and Larry were perusing the pile of equations and graphs strewed across the bed. Charlie looked up when the door opened.

"Hey, Don."

"Hey, buddy, how you feeling?"

Charlie shrugged. "Aren't you supposed to be down at the office?"

"Yeah, I just…well, I guess you and Larry should both hear this." He closed the door and seated himself in a chair next to the bed. "Look uh…I've got some bad news." Larry and Charlie watched him expectantly. "There was a bombing at CalSci this morning."

"What?" Charlie sat up and Larry put both hands over his mouth. "Wha- when? Where was- was anyone hurt? Did anyone-"

"Charlie, Charlie calm down. No one was hurt, the building was empty."

"Which building?" Larry asked.

"The Blaise Pascal lecture hall."

"That-" Charlie sat back, looking stunned. "That was…I was supposed to give a lecture there this morning."

Don watched him. "Yeah, I know."

"Don, if I hadn't…gotten sick, I'd be-"

"Hey, listen the important thing is you weren't there, okay?"

"Why would they bomb an empty lecture hall?"

"I dunno, but we're doing everything we can to figure this out."

Larry kneaded his forehead. "Do you have any leads, or…"

"A few. For now it's looking like organized crime. We've thought for awhile now that two suspected gang leaders we've had in custody were attempting to keep in touch with their gangs. And this makes three bombings with the same basic MO within just a few days of each other. That's the lead we're following right now, anyway." He shrugged, feeling all of a sudden like he'd said too much. "But we're not sure of much yet. Look, we'll let you know when we know more, okay? Charlie?" Charlie just nodded numbly, and Don decided to stick with that. "Okay. Get some rest, all right?"

"Yeah." Don got up, hesitated in the doorway, then disappeared, closing the door behind him. Charlie was silent for awhile, listening to Don's footsteps resound down the stairs. A few minutes later, after an inaudible conversation with their dad (in which, Charlie assumed, the bombing did not come up), he heard the front door close. It was then that Larry spoke.

"I find it ironic that a group of people who provoke chaos are celebrated as members of 'organized crime'."

Charlie just shook his head, mind working furiously. "You know what scares me the most…I seriously doubt they intended to strike on an empty building."

- - - - -

Don threw the stack of papers onto the desk in front of him, drawing the room's attention. "Okay, what we've got so far: We've received the report back from forensics. At this point, they're saying it was domestic."

Colby pulled up a report on the computer. "All the elements of the bomb, as far as they could tell, were either homemade or black market. Either unprofessional work or very convincingly unprofessional professional work."

Don leaned over to look at the report. "Have we cross-referenced the full analysis with the other bombings?"

"Yeah," Megan said, pulling out a brown folder. "Both at the grocery store bombing and that Cajun restaurant. Same basic set-up, same equipment. I think it's safe to say if it isn't the same person, it's the same gang. Always providing it's not a copycat. Man." She gave them an exasperated expression. "Don't you just wish criminals would come up with their own ideas?"

"Guys," Don said as Megan handed him the folder. "We're going to run with the organized crime theory. I want a profile on both of those gang leaders ASAP." The room started moving, and Don had to yell to finish. "If one of these guys is keeping his boys moving, it's possible we can use him to track the gang down, so let's get on it!"

Megan wheeled her chair away from the table, turning to face Don. "Did you tell Charlie?"

Don sighed. "I don't think I've ever been so relieved that he's in bed with a temperature of one-hundred and one."

Megan frowned, stacking up the papers. "You know I just don't get it. When a gang leader gets incarcerated, his buddies usually either go underground till he's out or someone just takes over. I mean, have you ever heard of this much loyalty among reprobates?"

"If they honestly believe that he's the one guy who can really get things done, then yeah." He shook his head. "I just don't get the targets. A grocery store, a restaurant and now a lecture hall at CalSci."

"It could be completely random."

"If you were going to risk sending messages to your slum buddies, would you really give orders for random attacks?"

"Probably not. A psych report on the boys inside would be nice, though." Megan handed him a folder marked _Crime Scene (case 441992835)_. "Here's the photos and police report on the CalSci bombing. I'll get you the other two."

"Thanks." He opened the folder as she left, flipping through the pages quickly. Then he shut it, tossed it onto the table with a _slap_ and went to get some coffee. It was going to be a long day.

- - - - -

"I won't tell you again, Charlie, you are going to stay in this bed until you feel better."

"Dad, Larry left an hour ago, Don's at work, I have nothing to do. I'm going crazy, and I feel fine." Alan gave him a look. "I do. I feel much better- actually, I barely even feel sick. Really." He continued to stare. "At all," Charlie added, nodding emphatically.

Alan considered it. "Just to the store?"

"Just to get some ginger ale for my throat," he said quickly. "I'll be gone like- ten minutes."

"Fine." Charlie sprang out of bed, and went to his dresser, pulling out some clothes. "Hey, hey-" Alan said suddenly, grabbing him by the arm. "Promise me you're not going downtown. Don told me he dropped by to tell you about a case-"

"No, no," Charlie insisted, pulling his t-shirt over his head. "I'm not going to the FBI, I promise."

"Okay. Just don't push it, all right, I want you getting better, getting back to your routine. I know how being sick drives you nuts."

Charlie began to lace his sneakers and smiled. "Thank you."

- - - - -

"Professor Eppes! Professor?" Charlie stopped, hand hovering over the grocery store door. He sighed patiently when he recognized the well-dressed young man who was running pell-mell towards him.

"Good afternoon, Adrian."

The boy stopped, bracing his hands on his knees to catch his breath. "I'm sorry for chasing you down, is this a bad time?"

"I have a few minutes. What's up?"

"It's just I have this problem with my theorem. I think I made a serious error, because it started looking a lot more like a corollary, but I can't figure out an equation that might explain the error." He winced apologetically. "I was gonna ask you about this after class today, but it got canceled."

"I'm sorry, Adrian, I haven't been feeling well so I called off all my classes for today."

Adrian looked surprised. "I thought- I thought that you called it all off cause of…well, you know, cause of the bomb." He watched Charlie, wide-eyed.

"No…no, but I did hear about that. I'm glad no one was hurt."

"Yeah," Adrian shook his head in wonder. "It's so weird. I mean- why would someone want to blow up an empty lecture hall?"

Charlie nodded, thoughts momentarily elsewhere. Then he brought his attention back to Adrian. "Well listen. I'm still not completely recovered, and I don't want to get any of my students sick. But I'm hoping to keep both my classes tomorrow, so we can go over your theorem then. All right?"

Adrian looked relieved. "Okay. Thank you, professor Eppes." Charlie smiled as Adrian galloped across the parking lot, coat and tie flapping in the wind, then pushed the door open and went inside.

"This it, Charlie?" the cashier asked, eyeing the twelve-pack of ginger ale.

"That's it, Mr. Kroger. Thanks."

Smile lines appeared somewhere far beneath Mr. Kroger's beard. "You're a man now, Charlie. When are you going to start calling me Victor?"

He just smiled back. "How's Vanessa?"

"She's fine, thank you for asking."

Charlie leaned against the counter as Mr. Kroger rang up the case. He then noticed the Pac-Man machine standing across the room, and smiled a little. Mr. Kroger followed his gaze. "I can still see Don pounding away at that thing," he said.

Charlie turned around. "He was good, wasn't he?"

Mr. Kroger nodded. "Beat the all-time record. I typed him up a certificate myself." He smiled fondly. "It's still there, actually."

Charlie's eyebrows shot up. "Get out."

"Check it yourself, if you like." Charlie crossed the room and brought up the top scores list. Sure enough, in the number one slot: "DIEHARD DON". Charlie laughed, and he heard Mr. Kroger do the same, recalling out loud, "The night he made that score, the store was packed. He was probably here for hours. By the time he won, there were…oh, maybe twenty people standing around him. He was a real hero."

"Do you know what day that was?" Charlie asked, but he found it on the score list just as Mr. Kroger said it.

"October 14, '85. That was a day I'll never forget," Mr. Kroger said.

"Yeah," Charlie came quietly back to the counter. "Me too."

"And your total is $6.69. Charlie?"

"Huh?"

"Something wrong?"

"Uh…no. $6.69?" He handed Mr. Kroger a ten, then took his change, forcing a smile. "Take care, Mr. Kroger."

When he got outside, he pulled out his cell phone, and dialed with one hand, unlocking the car and swinging the ginger ale into the backseat with the other. "Hey, Dad it's Charlie. Look uh…I know I said I was going to come right back home, but it's-" he pulled the phone from his ear to check the time, "it's almost two o'clock, and I am starving. I'm going to get lunch with Larry…yeah- Dad, I know, but I feel fine…look, I'll be back in an hour, okay?…okay. I will. You too…Bye."

- - - - -

"Two suspects." Don pinned up a picture of a cold-looking man. "Jackson Greer, 32, black. Born in Montana, moved to California when he was 15. Charged with arson, possession of illegal explosives and firearms." He pinned up the next photo. "And TJ Pullman, 29, white. Born and raised in LA, Charged with possessing and selling illegal explosives and drug possession." He stood back, examining the two photos.

Megan tapped a finger on the back of her chair. "Both perfect scenarios for gang leaders."

"Exactly," Don said. "Now, I talked to the sate pen., and they told me without sufficient evidence, they can't move these guys. So for the time being they're still in LA, though I'm pushing for tightened security."

"Well, it would help if we could at least keep them from options," Colby pointed out. "I mean- trash-stabbing, laundry duty, kitchen duty…there's loads of loopholes they could be working through."

"Like I said, I'm working on it," Don said, pressing his palm to the board again. "Till then, we keep looking into these guys. There has got to be a connection between the three bombings. Ask around at the grocery store, the restaurant, CalSci campus. See if anyone there knows anything about these guys or ever saw them before they were incarcerated."

Colby stood up. "Do we have anyone talking to Greer and Pullman yet?"

"No, still processing the request. I'll send you and David as soon as we get cleared."

- - - - -

"I don't quite understand what you're trying to tell me here, Charles. You all ready forgave Don, even felt guilty for faulting him. How is it now you know he was at the arcade, that forgiveness is moot?"

Charlie shook his head, running his fingers restlessly through his hair. "It's not that, it's…I felt guilty because it wasn't Don's fault he didn't show. But I mean…he knew, he knew I needed him to walk me home, and he…he was playing video games? I just- I don't know…" He shook his head, leaning back in his chair, crossing his arms. At a loss.

Larry watched him for a few moments, then continued spreading cream cheese on a stack of crackers. "So what are you going to do about your new discovery?"

Charlie bit his lip. "I don't know…nothing, I guess. I mean what am I supposed to do? Hey Don, remember that thing that happened when I was ten? Yeah, well I just figured out you were playing Pac-Man at the time and, uh, I expect an apology. I mean, it's ridiculous Larry, this was twenty years ago. It shouldn't even be bugging me."

"You know, there is a common misconception that time heals wrong, when in fact, time just makes wrongs age. And I hate to tell you this, Charles, but grudges age really well."

Charlie sighed. "So what do you suggest?"

"I think if you talk to Don, you may actually get some closure. You might even find out that there's more to it than you think, and all the turmoil was for nothing. But you'll accomplish nothing by doing nothing. Aristotle said it best, 'All causes of things are beginnings; that to know a thing's existence is to know the reason why it is.' It basic causation, if you do not act you will not get results."

Charlie's head came up slowly. "Cause and effect."

"At it's most fundamental," Larry said fondly, and took a bite out of his cracker.

"Larry…why didn't I think of it?" Without giving him a chance to respond, Charlie left the table at top speed. By the time his chair fell over, he was all ready on his way out the door.

- - - - -

"All right…thank you. Thank you, yes. Agent Sinclair and Agent Granger will be there shortly." Don hung up the phone just as the door burst open and Charlie came running in.

"Don! Don, I think I may know how to track these guys down."

"Charlie what- aren't you supposed to be in bed?"

"Remember that theory," Charlie insisted, coming around the desk, all ready unrolling sheets of graphs and maps. "The one I tried to use in that arson case."

"The ELM fires?"

"No, the other one, the one in Pasadena."

"Oh right, you mean the Behavioral Choices-"

"Behavioral Decision Theory, yes. I don't know why I didn't think of it. I mean, this theory's somewhat new to me, I suppose. But I really think, despite all the proposed and, frankly credible fallacies found in the theory, I can distill it into a concise and explicit algorithm specifically applicable to this case."

"Okay, but…you're going to have to come up with some lemans terms for me, buddy, cause you tried to explain this whole thing when you finished it-"

"You said it looked impressive."

Don blinked. "Well…yeah, Charlie, your math always looks impressive, that doesn't mean I have any idea what you're talking about."

"Okay, uh…imagine a highway. And every car is unique, different brand, color, make. Now each car has its own destination, and there is no way you can guess exactly where it's going to go just by looking at it. However, there are limitations, such as gas stations and the distance itself. Also, there are rules that you know the car is going to have to follow: Speed limits, traffic lights, other cars."

"You're not going to see one car purposefully bashing into another car or driving into the grass."

"Barring lunacy, no."

"But people run red lights, speed-"

"Yes, but then the risks go up. So you calculate the probability of a car running a specific red light, taking into consideration traffic cams, number of cars in the vicinity, location of the nearest police station. And in the case of gangs, these people also have an agenda. If we can figure out what that is, we'll know where the car is going and the route will be all the easier to figure out."

Don nodded slowly. "I think I know where you're going with this. But there are maybe a couple hundred factors in a car, and like- a million in a person."

"Actually if you're talking possible factors, it's more like a million for a car and-" He grabbed a black marker, went to the whiteboard and wrote a ten with a little twenty-four next to it, "more like one septillion for a human being. Approximately, I haven't worked that one all the way through."

"And I guess you're going to tell me you can actually factor through one septillion possible motives and roadblocks?"

"Actually yes." Charlie paused a minute then added, "But, that would take probably ten years or so. For the time being, we're going to overlook the possibilities and stick with the probabilities. For one thing, we are going to assume that the person or persons in question are sane. That knocks off about a thousand possibilities right there."

"So basically, you're breaking people down into equations."

Charlie thought about that a moment, hesitating at the note of skepticism. "Well," he said slowly, "really anything can be broken in to numbers. People are profoundly more complex than most subjects, but…yeah." He shrugged, grinning a little. "Just…you know, do the math."

- - - - -


	3. Three

- - - - -

"Agents Sinclair and Granger to see Prisoner #227."

"Have a seat, Mr. Pullman." TJ Pullman eyed them coolly as the guard pushed him into a chair. Colby folded his hands and leaned across the table. "I'm Agent Granger, this is Agent Sinclair. We're with the FBI. " TJ stared over their shoulders at the back wall. Colby continued. "We have a problem. Three bombings in the last couple weeks, and we have reason to believe your gang's behind it. Now I know you have no interest in getting out of here only to find all your buddies have gotten themselves incarcerated just like their boss." TJ scoffed. "Something wrong, Mr. Pullman."

He remained silent, and David took over. "If you can convince us that it's not your gang that's responsible, you may avoid getting a few more years put onto that sentence of yours. You'd stand a chance for parole, and you may even have some friends once you get out of this place. We're only going after the one set of bad guys for now. But in order to do that, TJ, you're going to have to give us some info on who is doing this."

TJ licked his upper lip and continued to stare unblinkingly at the wall. Colby leaned in closer, his voice dropping low. "Do not make the mistake of thinking we won't track these guys down, we will. We're all ready gaining all the knowledge we need from the bombings. But listen, we just came from talking to Jackson Greer." The first sign of interest flickered across TJ's face. "We had real good reason to believe this gang's his. But your incorporation's starting to make me rethink our decision."

David stood up. "Once we know who's behind this gang, it's a piece of cake finding the gang itself."

Colby nodded. "So what's it gonna be, TJ?" There was a split second of consideration on his face, then he seemed to swallow it. "Fine," said Colby. "Agent Sinclair, would you give Agent Eppes a call? Let him know we have our man."

David opened his phone, and the two started leaving the room. Suddenly, TJ spoke up. "What kind of evidence you lookin' for on Greer?"

Colby turned around casually, looking at the ceiling as though for inspiration. "Ah, you know…names, locations, any dirt you got, TJ."

TJ cocked his head to the side and, still trying to look nonchalant, nodded. "A'ight. You dudes got a pen?"

- - - - -

David shut the door behind the two of them, and gave Colby raised eyebrows. Colby laughed. "I can't believe he went for the, 'call it in, we have our man' thing. I mean, it's a classic, right? Doesn't this guy watch TV?" David smothered a laugh and Colby put his hands in his pockets. "So what now?"

"Now?" David smirked at him. "Now we go talk to Jackson Greer."

- - - - -

"Negative on the grocery store and restaurant front," Megan sighed, pushing away from her computer.

Don nodded. "How about CalSci?"

"Same results as the cursory check we made on the scene; no one's seen Greer or Pullman. It stinks, that scratches revenge off the list." She shook her head, spinning one of the crime photos around. "Two people killed and six hospitalized at the grocery store and five hospitalized at the restaurant. All low-casualty attacks on buildings with no common denominators."

"Yeah. Charlie's working something, though, some…hive theory, gang behavioral patterns…I don't know what the heck he's doing now, actually."

"Whatever's Charlie-speak for a mathematical answer to our dead-end."

Don laughed. "I probably should go check on him, he's been scribbling away in there for over an hour."

Megan glanced up at him. "You look kind of stressed, Agent Eppes."

He growled under his breath, calling it quits on the files he'd been pouring over. "I just…can't help but think there's another bomb out there waiting to go off. I hate having no leads to follow." Megan just gave him a smile, a nod, then turned back to her computer. Don got up and opened the glass door, entering the briefing room which was now littered with Charlie's notes.

"Hey, how's it going?"

Charlie worked furiously at the whiteboard, not looking up when Don entered. "Uh…" there was a long pause before he mumbled distractedly, "yeah, working on it."

"Wouldn't you feel better taking this to your office at the school?"

Again, there was no response at first. Then, "No I don't…too much distraction."

Don nodded, catching on. "Right, right the bomb. You know- no one was hurt, Charlie, the hall was completely empty."

"Yeah, yeah I know. I just-" Charlie's marker hovered uncertainly over the whiteboard and he stared down at his shoes. "I uh…can't. I can't work with investigators on campus, and smoke in the air, and everybody talking about how…how people could have died." He shook his head and started writing frantically again.

Don chewed his lip a moment then nodded. "Well listen…don't push yourself too hard."

"You need this, they- the FBI needs this."

"I know, but just this morning you were bedridden with a fever."

"I'm fine."

"Well- I'm glad." Don thumped him on the back. "Just promise you won't overdo it, okay? If you're getting tired, just let me know." Charlie gave a curt nod and went right on writing.

Don stood and watched for maybe five minutes…

_F(x, y, y', y", …, yn-1) y(n)_

_Yn : y (n-1)_

_y' F(y,x)_

Somewhere around the fifth line of y's, x's and parentheses, Don slipped quietly from the room and left his brother to his work.

- - - - -

Colby looked irritated when he David come walking out of the elevator an hour later. "Uh-oh," Megan said when they came around the corner. "You look riled, Granger. How'd the interrogation go?"

David dropped a stack of paper on the desk. Don raised his eyebrows. "You got official statements? From which one?"

"Both," said David. "TJ gave us several tip-offs against Jackson Greer."

"And Greer?"

"Gave us plenty of evidence against TJ."

Don nodded. "Even if they're both wild good chases, we can probably bet that each statement is a model of where they don't want us to go, right?"

"Yeah," Megan agreed, "why would they send us anywhere near where their gangs are really hiding out when they've got this golden opportunity to point us in the opposite direction."

"So long as we account for the possibility that they're a little smarter than that, this can be helpful." Don nodded at them. "Good work, guys."

Colby scowled. "Gotta tell you Don, those two are sick. You should have heard them bragging their past illegal exploits with those smug smiles on their faces. It's disgusting, I wouldn't be shocked if they both turned out to be our guys."

"Hey, don't let it bug you," Don told him. "We'll nail these guys. Charlie's got some new algorithm cooking now, so it's just a matter of time." He went to the briefing room and swung the door open, poking his head inside. "Hey, Charlie? How's it coming."

"Uh…" Charlie stood back, examining his work. "Okay. Okay…what've you got there?"

"Just some statements from our boys in the state pen."

"Greer and Pullman?" Charlie took the stacks of paper and started breezing over them.

"Does that fit into your…your behavioral theory thing?"

"Yeah…yeah, actually this helps a lot. Give me…an hour. I'll run all this data through, get you a detailed model."

"Can you give us anything to work on from what you have so far?"

Charlie looked at the whiteboard hesitantly. "Well I had it narrowed down to two spectrums to check: One for Greer's guys, one for Pullman's. I'm working the two separately until we know which one we're after."

"All right."

"But with this new data, I could get you something more accurate."

"Charlie, for all we know there's another guy out there with a bomb, just waiting to go off. We need a pattern, even a springboard." He smiled apologetically. "I'll take whatever you got."

- - - - -

"Gang Theory, Hive Mind, Groupthink, all different ways to explain the same concept; that people and their behavior as a group can be analyzed with mathematics, and almost completely deductive reasoning. I could…" Charlie looked hesitantly at Don. "You want me to do the traffic analogy again, or…"

Megan waved a hand. "We don't need to know how it works, Charlie, just what it does."

Charlie nodded, picking up speed. "Okay. Well, I read through Jackson Greer's and TJ Pullman's profiles, their backgrounds, their parents, friends, hangouts, homes. The more information I can run through this algorithm, the more exact my estimates."

"You turn humans into equations?" Colby glanced around. "I'm almost afraid to ask…is that even possible?"

"Involved, time-consuming and not 100 exact, but possible. Yes."

"Wait, what do you mean it's not exact?" Don pointed to the graphs taped to the whiteboard. "You said you were pinpointing a location, that sounds pretty exact to me."

"Calculating for a vicinity, yes, but not a location. I could narrow that vicinity even more if I had time to process these statements, but you said you wanted this now."

"Yeah, no. This is good, anything you got it is good, Charlie."

Charlie nodded, and grabbed a map off the table, unrolling it. "I just got this printed up…let me just…" he turned it this way and that, then grabbed a notebook, flipping quickly through it. "Just a minute, I think I…yeah, the directional diagram wasn't correctly split. Well, I can guesstimate." He taped it to the whiteboard, and pointed to what looked like a target whose rings got darker and darker towards the center. "I've mapped according to likelihood. The darkest rings are more specific, but less likely."

"Less likely how?" David asked.

"Well it's too specific. But, it's your best chance in making an actual bust. See, these largest rings cover the greater part of southern Los Angeles, so the likelihood is greater. The narrower the field, the more specific and the more room for error."

"But we can't kick down doors all through southern LA," Don added.

"Exactly. Now the computer messed up somehow, I don't have the coordinates I added for Pullman, but I mapped out his local as well. And guess what I found." Charlie grabbed a black marker and made three rough circles. He thumped the maker on the innermost circle.

Don leaned forward. "They intersect." Charlie pointed at him in a 'give him a prize' sort of way. "So what, are you saying that these guys…that Pullman and Greer are working together?"

"I'm not making any assumptions, that's your department," Charlie said, capping the marker. "But I'll tell you this: Until I factor in those official statements you gave me, my approximations put the gang of both Pullman and Greer in this vicinity possibly on an early weekday. Also, I calculated as best I could their temperaments and preferences and think you're looking at organization."

"Meaning discreet meetings, crowded buildings, busy parks and whatnot…" Don went to the whiteboard, studying the map. "What, right here on Wilshire Boulevard?" Charlie nodded. "So what's here besides us."

Colby shook his head. "Let's see, uh…Academy of Arts and Technology, Institute of Architecture and Design, CEI…lot of institutes, a lot of colleges."

"Yeah, but how many of them admit visitors?" David pointed out. "It's got to be somewhere with a steady flow of visitors. Preferably free entry, to avoid security."

Don's eyes flicked over the map, his mind working. Then he thumped the board suddenly. "The LA Museum of Art." Megan spun around to her computer as he kept talking, his voice speeding up. "Free admission, low security, high attendance-"

"Here it is," said Megan, pointing to her monitor. "Open on Tuesdays noon to 8pm."

Don looked down at his watch. "Okay, so we assume they're going to aim for the afternoon rush…we need to get a move-on."

David stood up. "I'll send the museum a photo of Greer and Pullman, let them run it by the staff. Maybe we'll get lucky."

"Yeah, go ahead. Colby, get the team ready. Megan come with me, we need to get a copy of that building's blueprints, look for meeting spots and escape routes."

Charlie was looking uncomfortable. As the busy room began to empty, he came up behind Don, grabbing his shoulder. "Hey umn…how do you know they'll be there today? I mean-"

"Well you said it Charlie, an early weekday, right? Museum's closed on Wednesdays, so unless it was yesterday, it's got to be today."

"Yes, but I'm not- I can't be sure about the early weekday thing, it was an approximation."

"Charlie, around here we have to act on approximations or we never catch the bad guys." He smiled and gave Charlie a whack on the shoulder. "Hey, don't worry. I trust your judgment. Look, why don't you go home and get some sleep. You and Dad can, I dunno, watch TV or do crosswords or something. Something to relax, okay?" He stopped at the expression that had come across his brother's face. "What's wrong?"

"Dad." Charlie ran his hands through his hair. "I told him I was getting lunch with Larry, then I thought of the gang theory application, and…oh man, I promised him I wasn't going to come down here today."

"What- Charlie, what were thinking? Dad's gonna kill me, he's probably going crazy wondering where you are."

"No, he probably knows exactly where I am," Charlie said, looking like that made him feel even worse. "Oh man, I left- I left my cell in the car."

"'kay, Charlie, you know what? Call Dad, go home."

"But I was going comprise those statements-"

"Hey, you gave us more than enough to go on, okay? Get some sleep, I'll make copies of the statements and come over later, give you an update. Now- go on, get out of here."

- - - - -

Don walked brusquely through the front door and made a b-line for the front desk. "Excuse me ma'am, Don Eppes, FBI." He flipped his badge open for the her to see. "I need to speak to your manager right away."

"Agent Eppes!" A tall man in a black suit came striding up and shook Don's hand firmly. "James Walker, I'm the head of security. I spoke to the board and some of your people on the phone. They tell me you think there is a terrorist meeting being planned in our building?"

"Not precisely terrorists, Mr. Walker, but a gang who has been demonstrating terrorist behavior. I would like your permission to send Agent Reeves to the observation room. My team and I will survey the upper and lower levels, I would appreciate it if you could tell your people to stay on the mid-level by the entrance."

Mr. Walker seemed a tad overwhelmed by all this information, but kept his cool. "Of course, I'll inform them immediately. This way, Agent Reeves." Megan left with him, and Don turned to address the rest of the team.

"Colby you take Franklin and Hummel downstairs, search all the lower floors, work your way to the middle. Keep close to the exits. Hansen, Podolsky, come with me. Let's move!"

The pounding of boots echoed through the corridors as they went up flight after flight. Finally, they reached the top and burst through the door. Everyone slid instantly into stealth mode, guns stowed in their belts, trying to look nonchalant to avoid a panic. They slipped quietly through hall after silent hall, each lined with paintings and plaques. Every time they reached a small huddle of people, Don would say quietly, "FBI, nothing to worry about. Routine inspection."

"Don," Megan's voice made his earpiece vibrate. "Possible suspects in the…Jacques-Loise David exhibit, around the next corner. Proceed with caution."

"Copy." They turned the corner to an open room with white walls and blue carpet. In the center of the room stood three armchairs and a couch. Don hesitated as four young men looked up. One was standing, the rest were seated comfortably in the armchairs and seemed to have just come out of an engrossed conversation. Don reached for his badge, "FBI, gentlemen-" and they bolted.

"Move in! Move in!" Don shouted, pulling out his gun. "Colby, first floor, first floor, west side, copy!"

"Copy," Colby's voice came in. "Heading to the stairwell."

"Take the east stairwell, head them off," Don ordered, running flat-out after the four men. Podolsky split off to the side, cutting through a small exhibit to the left, and heading one of the men off. He lunged and took the man down with him. "FBI! FBI, stop resisting!" he shouted, pulling out his cuffs.

"Good work, wait for backup," Don told him quickly as he and Hansen continued to peruse the other three.

Suddenly a door up ahead of all of them burst open and Colby and his team came pounding down the hallway. Two of the suspects went left, the third went right. Unfortunately, Colby, Franklin and Hummel all went left. They tackled two of them to the floor, but by the time Don had caught up to Colby and his team, the third was almost to the end of the hallway. Don looked up just in time to see a figure vanish into the shadows as the door slammed shut. "Megan, you have eyes on the stairs?"

"That's negative, Don, no surveillance on the staircases."

"Then we just lost one of our guys."

"Can you give me a description to pass along to the boys downstairs?"

Don shook his head dryly. "Young man in a coat and tie. Medium height, weight…probably would blend well with one of the twenty college tours here today."

Megan's voice reflected the sarcasm Don was feeling. "Copy that."

He turned, out of breath, and nodded appreciatively at Colby. "Thanks, that was fast." Colby gave a thumbs-up, too winded to respond. Don nodded to the two suspects. "Let's go have a chat about Jackson and TJ, guys."

- - - - -

"Dad?" Charlie dropped his keys on the kitchen counter and draped his coat over one of the chairs. "Dad, you here?"

"Living room," came a distant voice.

Charlie strolled into the living room, hesitant. "Hey."

Alan looked up from his newspaper. "Hi."

"I uh…had four missed calls from home. Sorry, I left my…my phone in the car."

"So how's Don doing."

Charlie bit his lip. "Huh…yeah, I figured you'd…figure that out."

"Listen, Charlie. I'm not angry." Charlie looked at him, expectant. "I just- I know you get stressed when you can't do the things you normally do. As long as you're sick, you won't be able to do those things, and until you let your body get some real rest, you're going to stay sick." He ruffled his paper. "I'm just trying to take care of you."

"I know you are," Charlie said, crossing to the couch, and lying down. "I'm sorry I didn't let you know where I was."

"I knew where you were."

"Yeah," Charlie laid his arm over his forehead, shutting his eyes. "But I'm sorry I didn't tell you."

"Well, apology accepted." Charlie heard him stand up. "Now, I'm going to make you some chicken soup."

"Dad-" He sat up quickly. "I know you're just looking out for me, but please, please, don't make me eat any more chicken soup."

A smile twitched at the corner of Alan's mouth. "Sandwich?"

Charlie smiled his relief. "Yes please."

"Bologna? Turkey?"

"Turkey's good."

"Coming up."

Charlie lay for awhile, listening to dishes clink in the kitchen. "Don's working on a case that involves that theory on behavioral studies I was working on awhile back," he called.

"Yeah? How's it coming?"

"Good." He wrinkled his forehead. "I think. I don't know, it seems so- imprecise. Even with my theory applied to it, all the variables analyzed, there's so much guesswork, so many hunches."

"Well, Charlie," Alan's voice came closer as he returned to the living room, two plates in his hands. "You can't really expect to fully analyze something as incredibly complicated as human beings. There's always going to be guesswork, to some extent." He sat back down on his chair. "Now is this the lecture you're giving at CalSci?"

"Actually, that one was on using mathematics to create unbreakable passwords capable of rotating as a means to fortify computer security," he said, sitting up and plucking lint off his t-shirt.

"Sure, why not." Alan smiled. "So have they rescheduled that for you yet?"

"Oh, uh…you know, I'm not sure."

"You're not?"

"No," Charlie reached for his sandwich. "But I'm sure they'll let me know." He blinked irritably. "Not as though it matters, since I seem to have misplaced my calendar."

His father seemed to find that amusing. "How'd you do that."

"Hey," Charlie pointed at him. "It's not funny, I had to get Amita to help me redraft my whole schedule."

"What, you mean-" Alan reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a brown, leather planner. "This schedule?"

Charlie seemed put out. "Where'd you find that…"

"Buried downstairs in your mad science lab, go figure."

Charlie smiled a little, taking the planner. "I'm on the cusp of a very useful, practical step in computer security, Father."

"And you're also a genuine slob, my son." Charlie gave him a 'touché' expression and started into his lunch. "If your breakthrough's so important, then why haven't they rescheduled it, yet? I heard this was a big deal to CalSci."

"It is, it's just…" Charlie shrugged in what he hoped was a causal way. "You know…rescheduling takes time, that's all."

Alan eyed him for a moment, then seemed to drop it. "Well I wouldn't stress over this whole behavior theory thing too much. I'm sure whatever you can do to help Don is well appreciated and very useful."

"Let's hope so."

They ate their sandwiches in silence. Then Charlie smiled to himself, rocking back and forth a little. Alan raised his eyebrows. "What is it?"

"I was just thinking, you know…I'm still not quite adjusted to this idea of practical application of concepts. I mean, I teach applied mathematics, and still it boggles me how such information can be used wide-scale like it was when I worked with the NSA, or even more so now, with the FBI."

"I don't follow…"

"Well, we use math for everything, really. But application of this magnitude, it just, I don't know…it's a good feeling. When mathematics are applied to crime- it's possible with this theory, my theory, I could…" He shook his head, fiddling with the edge of his plate. "We could have a obvious drop in crime activity."

"You really think you can do all that with this one idea?"

"Not me. And the concept of behavioral studies has been around for ions, in one form or another. But with the algorithm that I have made, specifically tailored to LA crime, we could be tracking these people down. Making those responsible for crime start paying for it. And it's all thanks to Don, opening that window for me, allowing me to work with the FBI."

Alan nodded slowly. "This is pretty heavy stuff, Charlie."

Charlie smiled, unperturbed. "Yeah. I guess it is."

- - - - -


	4. Four

- - - - -

Don paced restlessly in front of the whiteboard. The whole briefing room was silent as everyone sat in thought. Finally he pointed to three pictures on the board and said, "Ken Dryger, Jim Blake and Kyle Ross. So we've been interrogating these guys for two days and we're still getting cocky remarks, smart-alecky answers and absolutely no actionable clues. Is that code we found on Blake back from Deciphering yet?"

Megan shook her head. "Due to our analyses of this gang thus far, I've advised they narrow the search to sophisticated coding. They're thinking it may be Huffman coding, but without a key, they're having to do it trial-and-error."

"Any ETA?"

"Five days, maybe a week."

"The longer we have these guys and no answers, the greater the risk of another bombing."

Megan nodded her agreement. "Don's right, without knowing more about this gang itself, there's no predicting the repercussions."

"We could try different tactics," David said, taking a second look at the suspects' files. "All three of these young men are smart, promising before they took up petty crimes. Maybe we could get some of their families in here."

"The forms would take too long, and we can only hold them so long on suspicion charges. We're running out of time. Plus their parents and their lawyers, I'm sure, are all ready knocking down the door to peruse legal action. I'd rather not invite them in."

Megan pushed her hair out of her face, sighing. "And that's another bizarre thing that's getting to me. I had to call the parents myself. None of the boys showed any interest in contacting their families, schools or lawyers."

"Embarrassed?" David offered.

"Possible." But she sounded unconvinced.

"We're getting nowhere with any of them," Don said firmly.

"So…" David glanced around. "You're suggesting what?"

He thought a moment, then looked up. "I'm taking that code to Charlie."

- - - - -

Charlie ran a hand over his face, laughing.

Larry, still trying to keep his own voice steady, continued, "So- so I said, you know, 'uh…Chris, where's the g?' and he says, 'what do you mean, professor?' and I told him, 'if the F is the prefix to the equation, it stands for 'force', but it's not just force, it's gravitational force' and he says, 'is that what the F was for?'" Charlie thumped the table, still laughing. "And I said, 'well Chris, what did you think F stood for?' and he says, 'well you put it there, shouldn't it stand for Fleinhardt?'"

Charlie, once he'd stopped laughing, patted Larry on the shoulder. "My condolences, professor."

"Yes, well," Larry sighed, wiping his eyes. "Just one of the myriad of joys that comes from being a teacher."

Charlie grinned. "The opportunity to laugh at the naiveté of one's students?"

Larry laughed again, shaking his head. "Exactly," he said at last, running his hands over his face. "Ah…to be young and incoherent."

"Well I envy you, I'm currently feeling guilty for my students. Grant, Adrian and Trey are all home with the same fever I just got over."

"You didn't come to classes till you'd fully recovered, so you can't blame yourself for that."

"Yeah," Charlie stood up, fiddling absently with a piece of chalk. "Hopefully things will be back to normal by tomorrow."

Suddenly, the door opened and Don strode in. "Charlie, hey."

Larry looked at the ceiling, "If your life is ever normal, Yoichiro Nambu was color-blind, Charles…"

Don glanced at him. "What?"

Charlie shook his head. "Ignore him, he's just suffering from the idiocy of his students-"

"Idiocy implies the incapability to register knowledge, Christopher Ricks is really more of an obdurate adolescent. I think I should take up farming, I hear goats are far less stubborn than undergrads."

Charlie smiled brightly, and went over to Don. "So what's up? How's it coming with the museum guys."

"Ah, not too great."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah, I mean it's all glib comebacks, nothing substantial."

"Well you know, arrogance is often the first sign of insecurity."

"Yeah, but we're getting nothing. I don't think these guys are afraid or overconfident, they're just…" he shrugged. "They're just confident."

"So what do you need me to do."

"Well, we got this note off one of them, and it's in code. We sent it down to Deciphering, but I…could really use your help on it."

"Yeah, sure you bet."

"I made you a copy…" Don reached into his coat and pulled out a small, yellow envelope marked "confidential" and handed to his brother. Charlie flipped it open, eyes scanning down a page with nothing but 1's and 0's from the top to the bottom. He slowly began to nod his head.

"Binary…Huffman, maybe, it looks a little like a branch format. And it's a repeating design. One, two…seven times." He looked up and found an amused light in Don's eyes. "Well, I'm guessing your guys all ready figured that out."

"Yeah, but…took 'um two days."

Charlie grinned a little, and looked back at the page. "I swear I've seen this before. I'll need to take a closer look at the structure, maybe run it through a program."

Don held his hands up. "Whatever you need. Look, if you could just generate a key for me, that'd be great."

"You don't want me to decode it?"

Don shrugged, a little uncomfortable. "Charlie, I'm trying to keep you on need-to-know basis, I don't like getting you tangled too deep into this stuff."

Charlie was all ready nodding, "Right, sorry. I'll put together a key."

"Thanks buddy, you're the man." Charlie just smiled and watched him go. Then he put the page on his desk and started pounding away at the chalkboard.

Larry watched him a little while. "I guess I'll leave you to your work, Professor FBI." After receiving no response, he just got up and headed to the door. Charlie turned around suddenly.

"Larry. This could save lives."

"Almost certainly. But you know what they say about heroes." Charlie shrugged, and Larry gave him raised eyebrows. "They sometimes fall."

- - - - -

"All right, thank you…thank you for your time, sir." Megan hang up the phone with an exasperated sigh.

Don glanced up from a pile of crime scene reports. "What'd they say?"

"The request to restrict visitation and outdoor activities has been granted. After pulling most of their teeth, they're going to keep Greer and Pullman on lockdown till we get this case sorted out."

"Good." Don looked down again.

"So…you took the note to Charlie?"

"Uh…uh-huh, yeah." Don seemed distracted. Megan leaned over, snapping her fingers a few inches under his nose. He looked at her, confused.

"What's up with you?"

He shook his head. "Nothing."

"C'mon, something's been bothering you ever since you got back from talking to Charlie this morning."

Don sighed. "It's been three days since the bomb at CalSci, Charlie's only just now felt comfortable enough to go back there. And then I come in, asking for his help on the case again."

"Well…two days isn't exactly hibernation, Don." Megan shrugged, smiling. "If you ask me, he bounced back really well this time."

"Yeah, no you're right, he did. I just usually like to lay off him after something like that, but I…you know, we need him on this case."

"Yeah we do. And he's happy to help." She patted his arm, sitting down in front of her computer again. "Don't worry about him so much."

Don rubbed his forehead, laughing lightly. "It's my job."

As if on cue, the door swung open and Charlie came running in, David and Colby in-toe. "Don! Hey, Don, good news."

Don straitened up. "Did you break the code?"

"Yes. But don't go saluting me yet, the thing is," he pulled out his laptop, setting it on the desk and opening the lid, pausing dramatically. "It just, plain wasn't very complicated. Do you know what the most-used vowel in the English alphabet is?"

David shrugged. "A?"

"Close, it's actually E. But, to break a code like this we usually start with the letter A and its component then go to B, C, D and onward. See, Huffman's coding is binary, but it's complicated, it works off an entropy encoding algorithm, which means it's progressive. You have to start at the beginning and work your way down."

"Right, okay," Don nodded, clearly catching none of this. "So what was that about E?"

"Well, I discovered the likely properties of A, B and C. Then I realized I was getting excess notations. There just wasn't enough variety in the three-digit sets, this note would have to either contain only eight or nine different characters, or…" He flipped the laptop around. "It's ASCII."

Don leaned over quickly. "What?"

"Yeah, it's basic substitution binary language. You don't need a key, you can get something like this online."

"But that's so- easy," David said, bewildered. "Why would they bother with a code a high school student could crack?"

"If you think about it, it does fit the profile," Megan pointed out. "Gangs, even meticulous ones, are typically thrill-seekers. The whole coded message thing is probably more of a James Bond complex than an actual strategy."

Don was nodding, wheels turning. "Okay. Okay, Charlie, let's send your analyses downstairs, let them double-check it. That okay with you?" Charlie shrugged his assent. "Okay, the minute that message is decoded, I want everyone in this room. If it's a name, an address, anything, I want to be ready to move on it."

The room cleared quickly, and Don gave Charlie's shoulder a squeeze. "Good work, thanks."

"Well I don't know that I did much, but…" he handed the yellow folder to Don, and smiled. "Any time." There was a pregnant pause. "Listen, I uh…I noticed you didn't call me after the museum bust. I had to call Megan and ask what happened-"

"Hey, I don't give you to-the-minute updates."

"Yeah but you said you'd come by with those statements-"

"I got busy, Charlie, you know how it is."

"No, I know, but it's just…" Charlie looked a little uncomfortable. "You don't have to cut me out of this. You know, just because CalSci was somehow involved doesn't mean…you know. I'm fine. I really am."

"I know that." Don said sincerely, nodding for emphasis. "I know. Look, I understand you've got a personal investment in this now, and I respect that. I don't want you getting caught up in this just because of the CalSci bombing, but I'll tell you this: If there is anything I feel you could do to help me, I won't hesitate to let you know."

That seemed to make him feel better. "Okay. Thanks." He walked to the door, a spring in his step, then turned, "Oh, and if you were thinking of coming home this evening…don't know I'd recommend it."

"Yeah?"

"Dad's making that macaroni pasta he used to make for Thanksgiving."

Don gagged. "The stuff that made us sick?"

"Well he says that we were sick before we ate the pasta, but yeah." Charlie smirked. "Want me to uh…tell him you caught the bug I got and can't come?"

"Do you suppose if I got the bug while I was there I could blame it on the pasta?"

Charlie bounced his head back and forth, thinking, then shook his head, "Doubt it."

"Aw, c'mon. What are the odds of getting sick after the same pasta twice? Dad can't beat those odds."

"Well since you've had the pasta more than twice, you've got an average of 20-"

"Hey, hey- I wasn't talking about you, I know you can do it." Charlie, grinning, closed the glass door behind him.

Don watched him go, and was looking up some protocol information on the Los Angeles state prison when his phone went off. He pulled it from his belt. "Eppes."

"Agent Eppes, it's Bob Dorian in Deciphering."

"Hey Bob, how's it coming? How'd Charlie's key work out?"

"It's flawless, translated perfectly."

Don blinked, surprised. "You- you translated it?"

"Just a few minutes ago. It's not a long message, I'm afraid. Repeating pattern. You said to let you know-"

"No, yeah definitely. Can you send it up right away?" There was an odd pause. "Bob?"

"You may want to come take a look yourself, Don."

- - - - -

Don's footsteps pounded down the iron stairs. He showed his badge to the guard at the bottom and quickly pressed inside the double doors marked "Department of Encryption and Deciphering". A middle-aged man with sandy hair and a white lab coat came running up to him. "Agent Eppes? Bob Dorian."

"Hey, Bob. Where's the sheet?"

"Look umn…" Bob rubbed his hands together restlessly. "Let's go to my office." Don felt his irritation rising as they snaked their way between desks and computers. Finally, they reached the office and Bob ushered him inside, sliding the door shut behind him.

"What is it?" Don insisted.

"Look, I don't want to get you all worried for nothing. It's not conclusive, but it's…I just thought you should see it first." He handed Don a folder marked "DED Confidential". Don flipped it open, eyes sweeping over the page on the top of the stack.

His head came up slowly. "This is it? This is…this is all it said?" Bob just watched him, the question being almost rhetorical. "That's uh…that's…" Don shook his head and took a deep breath. "All right, thanks…thanks, Bob. I'll let you know if we find anymore, kay?"

"Send 'um on down." Bob gave him a polite smile he was too distracted to return.

He walked out the office door, the words on the page before him burning into his retinas: **CHARLES EDWARD EPPES**.

- - - - -

The room was silent as everybody seemed to be waiting for Don to speak up first, but he didn't. After he'd copied the decoded message onto the whiteboard, he had paced to the window, arms crossed, waiting for an explanation to come to him.

Eventually, Colby spoke. "Don…like they said, it's not conclusive. Greer or Pullman, whichever left this note for Blake, they're probably referring to the CalSci bomb. It's old news."

"Yeah," Megan put in, "the good thing is we now have a key, so if there are any more notes left for these boys, we'll be able to read them. Without that communicative option, we've got 'um."

"Not yet," said Don, sighing in a way that indicated he was pulling himself together. "Okay. So we only have those boys for another…maybe a few more days till their parents take legal action and get them out of our custody. So we press them as hard as we can."

"Play up the fact that they're not in communication with their head guy," added David, "that we can read their code."

"I don't know if that's going to come to much of a shock to them," Megan said. "If they really wanted to hide the messages from us, they shouldn't have chosen ACII."

"But we weren't supposed to find that note, right?"

Don pointed to him. "Exactly. I'll do Jim Blake."

Megan raised her hand. "I'll take Kyle."

"David, Ken Dryger?" David nodded. Don looked up at the whiteboard, hands stuffed in his pockets. "I wanna know why that piece of paper has Charlie's name on it."

- - - - -


	5. Five

- - - - -

"Bad news, Jim." Don sat on the edge of the table, leaning over the young man for effect. "We cracked your code." Jim rolled his eyes. "Yeah, figured you'd feel that way. I mean- the key for it's just a Google search away. But see, here's where the bad news comes in: We have a piece of paper that connects you to that bombing at CalSci."

"If you're about to tell me that you've got just cause to keep me here now, you've got another thing commin', Agent," Jim said scathingly, spitting the title like an insult. "Look, I'm pre-law. I know you can't keep me here for more than-"

"You mean you were pre-law, Jim." Don stood up and paced behind Jim's chair. "You are a young man on the cusp of making something out of your life. You work with us, tell us what you know and what your friends know, you may still get a diploma. I'll tell you this, though." He put a hand on the table and met Jim's cold eyes. "Kids with criminal records don't pass the bar."

Something shuddered ever so slightly in Jim's countenance, and then he seemed to completely freeze over, his face a mask of indifference. He looked away. "Whatever, man."

Don shook his head, amplifying his amazement. "I just don't get it, Jim. You're a straight-A student, you go to UCLA, you're both talented and intelligent. Why this allegiance to some reprobate moron? What, do you have this idea that he's a criminal mastermind, because if you do you're diluting yourself. He's an idiot who threw away his education for a life of crime, is that what you want to look like, Jim? Is that who you want to be?"

Jim shook his head slowly. "You don't know me." He looked up at Don, furious. "What, you think that a good education makes my life perfect? Now who's diluted."

Don thought that over. "Listen, Jim." He sat on the table again and Jim stiffened in his seat. "I know what that looks like. Being exceptional, it comes with its own demons."

Jim looked livid. "Don't you dare assume that just because you've got a smart brother that you're an expert on me or anybody like me. You have no idea who I even am."

"All right, sure. Let's talk about my brother. I'd like to know why you were carrying around a piece of paper with his name written on it in ASCII. Wanna explain that to me?" He looked away. "Was it instructions? A message to target the Blaise Pascal lecture hall? Who were you after, Jim?" Still he didn't reply. Don sat down in a chair to Jim's left, staring unblinkingly at him for a little while.

"Jim. Several hundred people could have died in that bomb, you hear me? You could have been a murderer."

Jim's voice dropped dangerously low and he looked angrily back at Don. "I'd kill a billion before I'd tell you anything. Ever." He sat back, ears shut, eyes glassy. Completely closed off.

The door opened suddenly and Colby poked his head in. "Don. Kyle's broken wide open."

Don nodded. "Okay, I'm coming." He looked at Jim to see how he'd react, but he continued to stare blankly ahead. Don gave him a 'your funeral' expression, and left the room.

- - - - -

Don was going towards Room 2 at a steady clip when his phone went off. He stopped, telling Colby to go on without him and flipped the phone open. "Eppes."

"Don, it's Charlie."

"Hey, what's up?"

"I was just wondering if you got that message decoded. If there's an error in my analysis, I'll need to start drafting-"

"Right, sorry. Yeah, it decoded perfectly. They sent it up from Code Breaking fifteen minutes ago."

"So it was ASCII?"

"Yeah." He heard Charlie sigh on the other end. "What?"

"It just…doesn't really fit my diagram of them, this juvenile attempt at being cool. It's not consistent."

"The important thing is we've got the message and that gives us an advantage. Don't worry about it."

"I guess. So was the message helpful?" Don tried to think of how to respond. "Don?"

"Yeah. Look, I gotta go. We've got one of the boys confessing."

"Really? Oh, uh…hey, don't let me keep you."

"I'll talk to you later."

- - - - -

Kyle, pale and shaky, had his head buried in his hands. Megan was sitting close to him, squeezing his shoulder. "I didn't know," Kyle insisted tearfully, "I didn't know we were going to blow up a whole building till we got the note."

"Is that what the message about professor Eppes was about?" Megan asked quietly. "To direct you to the Blaise Pascal lecture hall?" He nodded. "Kyle…did you and your friends attack the grocery store and the Cajun restaurant too?"

What color there was in Kyle's face drained. "No! No, that was some of his other guys."

"Whose other guys?" Kyle bit his lip, shaking his head and saying nothing. "Kyle, listen to me. We can keep you safe if you help us out. But you've got to tell us: Who led your gang?"

Kyle swallowed hard. "Jackson Greer and his brother."

In the observation room, Don cast a sideways glance at Colby whose face showed the same bewilderment. "His brother?" Megan asked, leaning closer to Kyle. "What was his name?"

"I don't know. We just called him TJ."

- - - - -

"Nothing about this came up in our background search. I want all the files pulled back up, just in case." Don started rummaging around the piles of folders and papers. "Where is…where's the information on Jackson and TJ's family history?"

"I got it," David said quickly, running back from his desk with a folder over his head. He and Don flipped through the stack, giving each page a cursory glance. Finally David pulled up one page in particular. "Here we go, TJ was born in LA…parents Greg and Marcia Pullman, they now live in San Jose."

Megan began reading aloud from her computer screen. "Jackson Greer's parents, Andrew and Vanessa Greer, died in 1988 when Jackson was fourteen. He was put into the foster care system and transferred to California."

"Yeah, when he was fifteen. We got all this information for Charlie's diagram. Did we ever find out who his new parents were?"

"Charlie wanted that information, but the records were sealed so he let it slide."

"Any chance we can get them unsealed?"

Megan gave him a smile, picking up the phone and dialing. "We can absolutely try."

- - - - -

"Where'd he get the note, Kyle?"

"From TJ, probably. He's the guy who did the encoding."

Colby folded his hands on the tabletop. "Is there going to be another bomb?"

Kyle shook his head. "I don't know. You gotta believe me, man, I'm not sure."

"Okay," Colby said in that calculating tone he'd picked up from Don and had now perfected. "How is TJ getting these notes to you?"

"He throws them out, they end up in dumpster in an alley."

"At the LA county state prison?"

"No, they take the trash somewhere else to prevent this kind of thing, but we figured it out."

Colby slid a piece of paper and a pencil across the table, giving Kyle an encouraging nod. "I need an address, Kyle."

- - - - -

Megan hung up her phone and stood up, notepad in hand. "Anyone care to guess the sweet couple who adopted 15-year-old Jackson Greer?" Don's heart skipped a beat as she waved the notes at him. "Greg and Marcia Pullman."

"So that clinches it, they're working together." David shook his head. "They've been playing us, the both of them."

"All right, I'm giving Charlie a call, he'll want to reassess his algorithm with this information." Don took his coat off, making his way to Megan's phone, when Colby ran up.

"The trash from the LA County prison is sent to a collections dumpster at 800 North Alameda Street."

"North Alameda…" Don thought. "That's the Amtrak station." He put his coat back on. "Let's go look in those dumpsters."

- - - - -

David swung his gun around the corner, but the alley was deserted. "Clear!" he called and Colby and Don came down the alley. Don stopped mid-way while Colby went to the end, checking around both corners.

"All clear!" he shouted.

Don went to the dumpsters sizing them up. "Three dumpsters, three guys."

"Great," Colby groaned, jogging up to them. "You know, this is why I didn't join the CIA. I heard they did crazy things like digging around in dumpsters for clues."

Don hopped onto the ledge of the centermost dumpster. "Look for anything that looks like it could be from the prison, guys. Let's hope they didn't bury it too much."

They dug around in the garbage for at least an hour before they'd found something definitely from the prison; an old janitor's uniform. "Okay, keep looking in this one," Don told them, jumping down with the uniform. He rifled through the pockets and found nothing. Then he stopped. "Wait, guys!" They jumped down and came to stand over his shoulder.

Don pulled back the fold of the collar and sure enough, rolled up inside it was a piece of paper. He unrolled it. David nodded, a note of grim satisfaction in his voice. "0's and 1's."

"Oh, it's ASCII again all right." Don tossed the uniform to Colby and folded up the page. "Let's go."

- - - - -

"I sent a team back to the alley to search the rest of the dumpsters," David said, striding up to Don. "I doubt they'll find much, but I figure just in case."

"Good." Don glanced up as Colby, too, came running up. "Did you send the uniform down to Forensics?"

Colby nodded. Megan grinned up at him. "Heard you guys got the fun job today, Granger." He sat down and chucked a balled up piece of paper at her which hit the computer instead.

"Okay." Don took the ball of paper and tossed it into the trash. "Kyle's information was legit, so for the sake of argument we're going to believe the rest of what he said. Megan, I need you take down his official statement, including any information you can get out of him about his friends. Ken Dryger and Jim Blake still aren't talking, but they may change their minds if they run out of options."

They were about to disperse when someone else came running towards them. "Agent Eppes!"

Don stood. "Bob, what's up?" Bob held out a sheet of paper and Don took it, curiosity mounting. His eyes flicked down the page. He stopped.

David, who'd been leaning against the desk, stood up straight. "What?"

Don started shaking his head. "No…no no no-" He snatched up his coat, pointing to David. "Call it in, I need a team over there five minutes ago."

"Don, what is it?" Megan got out of her chair and tried to assist him as he frantically strapped his vest on.

David picked up the sheet of paper, read it once, then tossed it back onto the table and grabbed the phone. "This Agent Sinclair, FBI. I need a team sent to 2042 Coblestone Drive, Los Angeles…Yes, that's the Highland Park area."

"We'll suit up," Megan said, but Don was all ready shaking his head.

"I can't wait that long, I'll call for backup if I need it."

"Cobblestone Drive?" Colby shook his head, clearly at a loss.

Don, his fear manifesting in irritation, checked his guns and shoved the sheet of paper at Colby. "Highland Park, Colby. My old house, Charlie's house!" He took off down the hall at a run, shouting over his shoulder, "They're after Charlie!"

- - - - -

"Dad, I'm home!" Charlie slammed the door behind him and went to the entryway table, setting the armload of groceries there. "Mr. Kroger wasn't there today. Came down with that fever I had. I actually saw him the other day…we were talking about…" He paused, hands hovering over the grocery bags then pressed his palms to the tabletop. "This is going to sound crazy, but uh…remember when I was ten and that kid, Travis Roberns-" Charlie turned around and all thought of Travis and the fifth grade disappeared.

The living room was a disaster. Chairs were turned over, pillows shredded, the carpet was coated in books, paper and cotton stuffing. Charlie moved in a daze through the room, barely registering what he saw. The curtains were ripped and in the hallway, many of the pictures had been torn off the wall. Broken glass littered the wood floor.

"Dad…" Charlie whispered. His adrenaline rose at the sound of his own voice and he took off down the hallway. "Dad!"

He ran upstairs, and the rooms up there weren't nearly as bad as the living room, though his room had clearly been particularly tossed. He pounded back down the stairs, through the dining room, and down to the basement. He reached the bottom and stopped, bracing himself on the doorway. Chalk littered the floor, most of his blackboards were broken, and the ones that weren't had nonsensical scribbling all over them. His heart sank at the sight of his cognitive emergence theory was in ruins, but other thoughts were still blaring through his bewildered mind.

He tore from the basement, new reserves of panic pushing him. "Dad!" He shouted, suddenly realizing he hadn't checked to make sure his dad's car was out front when he arrived. But where would he have gone? When Charlie left for the grocery store, Alan had told him he had no plans for the afternoon. He had to be here!

"Dad, where are you?! Dad!" Charlie ran back upstairs, double-checking the bedrooms, bathrooms, closets. He was rummaging through the toppled furniture in the living room when the kitchen door slammed. He barley noticed and continued checking under anything big enough to hide a body.

"Charlie!" Don's voice was loud and urgent. Charlie couldn't make himself reply, he just kept digging. "Charlie, answer me! Calling in, this is Agent Eppes, I'm at the house. It's been ransacked, repeat, the house has been targeted. What's your ETA?" The crackling sound of a response came but Charlie didn't hear it. "Copy. Charlie, where are you? Answer me, buddy."

Don's footsteps thudded through the kitchen and into the dining room. Charlie hauled the couch over and Don must have heard it, because he came running into the living room moments later. When Charlie stood up he saw his brother standing in the doorway, gun extended.

"Charlie," Don breathed, his gun falling limply to his side. He crossed the room, but Charlie turned away, grabbing the shredded remains of the curtains and hauling them off the rug. "Woah, hey…" Don grabbed his shoulders.

"I can't find him, I can't-"

Don turned him around, checking him for injuries. "Are you okay? Are you hurt-"

"No! I can't find Dad!" Charlie insisted, trying to brush him off. He got onto his hands and knees and started digging around again.

Don got down next to him. "Hey, slow down there, bro. His car wasn't in the drive." Charlie sat on his heals, hair in his face. "Yeah." Don tried to smile encouragingly, but it seemed kind of pointless in this setting. "C'mon, let's get you up."

The two of them stood, Charlie still too stunned to say much. "You sure you're okay?" Don asked, squeezing his shoulder.

"Yeah, I…" He pointed shakily to door. "I came in the front, I was at the grocery store, and it was just…the house was like this and I started looking for Dad."

"He left a note on the fridge, said he decided to practice his swing down at the club while the weather was good."

Charlie shook his head, uncomprehending. "He's not…he isn't home."

"No, hey, come here." Don directed him into the dining room which was a little less of a disaster and pushed him into the one chair that hadn't been turned over. Sirens screamed in the distance and Don gave him raised eyebrows. "LAPD. Good timing, huh?"

"Who needs 911 when you've got a fed in the family?" Charlie joked weakly.

Don smiled at him and hit the switch on his wrist-mic. "This is Agent Eppes, subject is secure. Requesting clean-up team. Proceed as instructed."

"_Copy that, Agent Eppes, we are on location now."_

"Copy." Don knelt in front of Charlie who was staring into space. "Listen, I'm going to give Dad a call so he doesn't have a heart-attack when he gets back, kay?"

"You won't be able to get a hold of him. No phones on the course."

"Oh right…well I'll wait a bit. You need anything?"

But Charlie wasn't going to be so easily distracted. "Don…why? Why'd they…they targeted this house." His voice shook a little and he sat up straight, meeting Don's eyes coolly. "They're after me, aren't they." It wasn't a question. "They wrote a note on my ceiling."

"Yeah?" Don pulled up another chair and sat in front of his brother. "What'd it say?"

"What all the other notes said. 'Free Our Bro'. That's how I knew it was them." He shook his head. Then something dawned on him. "How'd you…know to come? I didn't call you-"

Don stared back uncertainly, trying to think of how best to explain this. "We got a uh…another note. Kyle led us to it, we think it was from TJ Pullman. It was this address." He put his elbows on his knees, running a hand over his face and through his hair to rest on the back of his neck. "Listen, Charlie, I haven't been completely open with you. That note, the one I asked you not to decode?" Charlie nodded. "It was your name."

"What-" he shook his head, brow furrowed with incomprehension. "What uh…do you mean…?"

"It said 'Charles Edward Eppes'. We thought maybe it was just their tip-off for the CalSci bombing, but uh…I'm thinking now…" Don didn't want to say what he was thinking now. He sat in silence, waiting for the news to sink in.

Charlie swiped distractedly at the debris clinging to his pants, fingers trembling. "So they…this gang. They're trying to kill me?"

"Not- not necessarily, you know, we don't know enough yet to-"

"But they bombed my lecture and raided my house."

"Yeah, but Charlie, they also bombed a grocery store we never go to and a restaurant you've never visited. I mean, you hate Cajun food, it just doesn't make sense." Charlie shrugged in a sort of 'so what' way. "All right, listen. We've got to stick around here for a little while, you don't have to talk to the LAPD, I'll talk to them. If you want, you can just sit in your car or on the porch." Don waited for him to reply, but he just shook his head, putting a hand to the side of his face, shutting his eyes. The news was finally starting to sink in. He looked like he was going to pass out.

"Okay, c'mon." Don grabbed him by the arm, lifting him out of the chair and managed to direct him outside onto the front porch. Seating him on one of the wicker chairs, he then went down the steps to speak with the LAPD.

- - - - -

"Searched the whole house," Colby said, tugging his latex gloves off. "Nobody. Dusting for fingerprints now."

"Doubt we'll find anything," Megan said quietly. She glanced up at the front porch to where Charlie was still sitting. "How's he doing?"

Colby looked over his shoulder. "How would you be doing? Especially if you were Charlie."

"Yeah." Megan searched the crowd of people for Don. He was still by his car, trying to get a hold of either witness protection or his dad. He'd been having no luck with either. Megan climbed the porch steps, moving to one side to allow two officers past her. She approached Charlie carefully, leaning against the railing in front of him.

"Hey Charlie," she said lightly. "How you holding up?" Charlie shrugged one shoulder. "Hey." Megan knelt down in front of him, squeezing his arm. "Listen, I know you must be really anxious right now. But we've got three of the four guys who were after you. There's only one out there, and with Kyle confessing, it's just a matter of time." She smiled. "This is going to be over real soon."

Charlie nodded at the distant form of Don, barely visible over the swarm of crime investigators. "He's calling witness protection, isn't he."

Megan glanced over at him then back at Charlie. "He's also trying to call your dad. I don't know who he's talking to right now."

"But he is going to…put me into a protection program or something."

"He just wants you to be safe."

Charlie shook his head, looking down at his lap. "I can't…I don't know how that stuff works-"

"Hey, we'll walk you through it. It's going to be okay, Charlie."

Just then, a car pulled up. Megan stood and put her wrist to her mouth. "Colby, we've got a residential vehicle, appears to be a white Acura-"

"That's my dad's car," Charlie said softly.

Megan looked at him, then back at the car in time to see Alan climbing out of the front seat. "Never mind, Colby, it's Alan." He was crossing the driveway, making a b-line for Don.

- - - - -

"Yeah, call you in ten minutes. Thank you." Don shut his phone and pocketed it. "Dad, did you get my message?"

"Where's Charlie?"

"Uh-" Don pointed towards the house. "He's on the porch." Alan took off at a brisk walk through the jumble of people in uniform. Don took off after him. "Dad, wait up!"

Alan made it to the porch and ran up the steps. He saw his son sitting shakily in one of the chairs and ran over to him. "Charlie, oh my-"

"Dad, hey," Charlie answered faintly.

Alan grabbed his shoulders, looking him in the eye. "Are you okay."

"Yeah, fine. I wasn't- I wasn't even here when it happened, so…"

"I told you in the message he was okay," Don said coming up behind them. "It looks like someone ransacked the house, though."

"You said that someone broke in."

"Yeah, well I didn't want to panic you. I wanted to tell you in person."

Alan shook his head, looking stunned. "Ransacked?" He leaned towards one of the windows, trying to see inside.

Don nodded, grabbing him by the elbow. "Yeah, but you can't go in just now, we're dusting for prints."

"How bad is it?"

"Put it this way." Charlie forced a wry smile. "If it was breakable, it's broken."

Don seemed unhappy with that description. "Look, it's all fixable. And the important thing is no one was hurt. It was the gang, Dad, the one that Charlie's been helping us track."

"So if they're after you, why didn't they go to your apartment?"

"Cause…" Don glanced quickly at Charlie. "Because it wasn't about me. It's about Charlie."

The explanation about the coded messages never sounded so dreadful. When Don reached the part about finding Charlie's address, Alan stopped him. "Wait, wait, so you're telling me you knew they were after him and you didn't say anything to him or me?"

"I didn't know they were after him. We thought the first note had to do with the CalSci bombing-"

"But it had his name on it."

"Yeah, but Dad that wasn't conclusive. It's still not."

Alan planted his hands in his pockets. "Not conclusive. Finding his name in some- some thug's pocket is inconclusive? Having his house targeted by gangs-"

"It's one gang, and there are elements of this case that have nothing to do with Charlie."

"Oh, one gang. In that case, I'm relieved."

"Hey, what's your problem? What'd you want me to do, Dad? You wanted me to- to put Charlie in protective custody without knowing the facts? I didn't want him- I didn't want either of you -worried sick over something that could turn out to be nothing."

"Dad, please don't pin this on Don," Charlie said softly.

"You're lucky to be alive. Do you get that?" Alan looked down at him and he nodded numbly, and looked away. They all stood in silence for several minutes. Alan ran his hands over his face. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Charlie." He put a hand on his son's shoulder, then removed it gently, turning his attention to Don. "So- you can put him in protective custody now, right?"

Don looked down at Charlie. "Yeah. I just talked to the guys, they're going to make arrangements for him by tonight. He can come down to the office till then. And Dad, I think it's best you go to the safe house with him."

Alan opened his mouth to respond, but Charlie spoke first. "I'm not going."

Don shook his head. "No- Charlie don't do this. I know it freaks you out, but you've got to go."

"I'll stay at the office, I can go to your apartment for a little-"

"It's not safe there."

"It's not safe anywhere." Charlie pushed himself out of the chair. "And you can't take me off this case."

"Yes, I can and I will, especially since having you in danger is also a risk to this investigation."

"Don-"

"Charlie." Charlie turned pleading eyes on his dad. "Your brother's right. You could jeopardize all the progress you two have made on finding this gang if you put yourself in harm's way. I don't care for the idea of you being there anyway."

Charlie bit the edge of his lip, eyes bouncing from Don to Alan and then off into the sea of investigators. Finally, he fixed his gaze back on Don. "I haven't run the numbers…I need to uh…to construct a new algorithm, even a sketchy one, but…I don't think we're looking at a real gang." Don looked ready to protest so Charlie kept going before he could answer. "You can't take me off this. If these guys are really after me, which…if I'm right about the pseudo-gang theory, then they may not be. But if they are- I'm the only chance I've got."

- - - - -


	6. Six

- - - - -

"Okay, people, listen up!" The twenty or so agents gathered around Don, clipboards, notepads and laptops in-hand. "For the time being, Charlie is staying here. Which means I need one-hundred percent from everyone on this. If there is a real connection to Charlie we need to find it."

"I take it you asked him about the grocery store and restaurant?" David asked.

"Yeah, he's never been to either one."

David tapped his pencil against the desk next to him. "I'll ask around there again, see if anyone knows Charlie. You got a picture of him?"

Don pulled a candid shot he'd taken of Charlie at his blackboard and handed it to David. "Megan, have you spoken to Kyle again?"

"I was waiting to clear everything with Charlie first, but I'll get on it."

"Ask him about the notes, the house, what Charlie has to do with any of this. If he's really being as cooperative as he claims, he should give us some leads. Colby, take down his statement." Don turned and addressed the room at large. "The forensics team is still tossing the house. I want analyses going on anything they find the minute they find it. Hummel, take a few guys over there, bird-watch."

"Where is Charlie, anyway?" Colby asked, pushing his chair under the desk.

Don jabbed a thumb over his shoulder. "He's working on some reverse game theory thing. Charlie believes that this may not be a legitimate gang."

Megan blinked her surprise. "That certainly would change everything…what do you think?"

"I don't know, on the one hand I trust his opinion completely. On the other hand…" Don shrugged in that 'well what can I say' sort of way. "Someone just tore his house apart, allegedly to get to him. I just- I don't know how rational he's being right now. I guess we'll know when he gives us some concrete information and a fancy equation to go with it."

- - - - -

"Why'd you do it, Kyle. Why'd you go after Professor Eppe's house?" Kyle stared straight ahead and Megan had to lean into his vision to get him to glance at her. "Hey. You promised to help this investigation. It's your only chance of getting out of here."

"I…changed my mind."

Colby got up and crossed over to him. "Listen, Kyle. I know you think you've got no reason to trust us, that the people out there are going to help you. But let me tell you something, this is a bad move. You ever play chess?"

Megan and Kyle both looked at him. "Y-yeah, but…"

"You're about to sacrifice your queen, buddy. You drop your cooperation with us, you may as well kiss your best case scenario goodbye."

Kyle chewed his lip and looked away. "I can't…"

"Why," Megan urged. But Kyle had shut down. He wasn't even entertaining the possibility anymore, and both agents knew it. Megan sighed, climbing out of her chair as she and Colby both headed for the door.

Colby walked out, but Megan hesitated. She turned, hands on the doorframe. "If anything happens to Professor Eppes? You're willingly planting yourself in the middle of a murder trial. And you don't have to be pre-law to know what that means."

- - - - -

Charlie's audience, as usual, was rapt, and despite the way each eye was watching him like he was about to break, he started into his presentation in top-form.

"I've organized all the evidence we have so far, filtering out all the assumptions we've been making, based on the presupposition that we are chasing down some form of group organized crime. Now, using graph theory coupled with elements of game theory, I arranged the information like so." He tapped on the whiteboard which was covered in circled words. Lines ran from circle to circle like beads strung across a very long string and there were tiny calculations written in each margin.

David smiled placidly. "Uh…Charlie?"

"Right, sorry. Well. There are several things in this diagram that are inconsistent with the idea of a gang. We've molded them, bent them to make them fit into our assumptions, but once you remove those assumptions, we're left with bare facts that do not support that conclusion."

Don shook his head. "Such as…?"

"Such as- well, for one thing," Charlie tapped a circle with the word 'target 1' which was connected to another circle reading 'target 2'. "The grocery store and the restaurant are perfect places for a gang to make their point. Fatalities, wide locations, low security. But CalSci and my house," he tapped the 'target 3' and 'target 4' circles, "zero fatalities. Plus, they put themselves in a school and a residential area. Too many people, high risks."

"Uh-huh…" Don sat up straight. "So maybe it's a copycat. Somebody who's after you picked up the real gang's MO and decided to use it to mislead us."

"Maybe, but then- what happened to the real gang? Where are those original bombers who were in such a hurry to get their point across, they bombed two buildings just days apart?" He capped his marker. "I also finally ran those official statements you took from Jackson and TJ."

"And?"

"And…they don't fit into any of this, Don. Not as far as I can see."

Don shook his head. "So we're dealing with virtually unknown bad guys now."

"Not unknown." Charlie grabbed a red marker and traced over three black circles with it. "Ken, Kyle and Jim."

"They're not talking anymore," Megan said flatly. "Kyle 'changed his mind' about the whole thing."

"Well I'll work these numbers over. I just finished writing an algorithm I'd like to try on Kyle and Jim's profiles. I'll write up a flowchart to show you later, if that would help."

Megan nodded. "It would. Colby and I are going at Ken one more time, but…I'm not holding my breath. These boys are getting more and more distant. I think they gained some confidence from that attack on Charlie's house."

"We need to get something on them quick." Don pointed to David. "Check back with our forensic guys, see if we've got anything from the house yet. Charlie, if you need anything for your- well, for whatever you're doing, just let me know. We can make any files available."

"Thanks, I think I've got everything. Just…" He shrugged apologetically. "I could really use a connection between the first bombings and the third one."

"I'll get on it." Don gave him the best 'no worries' smile he had. Charlie seemed too tired to return it.

- - - - -

Don hesitated for a long time, then wrapped on the door. "Hang on a sec!" came an impatient voice.

"Dad, it's Don." The door opened. "Hey, how you doing?"

Alan leaned against the doorframe. "Okay, considering I'm mooching off the hospitality of friends since my real home has been pillaged."

"Well, Dad- I said you could stay at my place with Charlie and I-"

"Phil and Doreen are happy to let me stay with them, and I know that apartment is barely room enough for you boys." The first hint of a smile appeared at the corner of his eyes. "I'm not blaming you Donnie," he said quietly. "And I appreciate your concern for my well-being." His eyes twinkled with a real smile. "Don't think I haven't noticed the black Sedan down the road. It's been there since breakfast." Don opened his mouth to apologize, but Alan stepped back from the doorway. "Come on in."

Don walked inside, closing the door behind him with a soft 'click'. "Listen, uh…I need to talk to you about Charlie's movements for the past couple weeks."

Alan reclined in an arm chair, offering the one beside it to Don, who sat down, notepad in hand. "Why don't you just ask Charlie?"

"I asked him a few things, but you know how he is. Remembers his first-grade locker combination-"

"Can't remember what day he graduated or how to spell 'combination'."

Don grinned. "Every genius has his weaknesses."

"Well which days do you need to know about?" He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, black planner.

Don opened his notebook. "Do you have anything for…April 12th?"

"Uh, let's see…April 12- yeah. That was the day I went to the John Steinbeck book club."

"You remember what Charlie did that day?"

"He spent some of the day in town, running errands. I think he may have gone to the hardware store or the grocery store…I'm not sure. He had some miscellaneous stuff to do."

"Uh-huh." Don jotted something down. "How about April 16th?"

"Umn, I've got nothing here. It was Saturday, and you were working on something late that night, so we probably just hung around at the house."

"Nothing scheduled?"

"Nope, nothing here."

"Okay, thanks anyway." Alan made to put his planner away, but Don grabbed the edge of it so he could see the front. 'Alan Eppes 2006-2007' was written on the cover in gold.

"Hey, I remember this. Didn't I give it to you last Christmas?"

Alan smiled, flipping it over. "Gave Charlie one too, only in uh-"

"Brown, yeah I remember."

"The one he nearly lost." Don laughed. "No joke, he'd gotten Amita to help him draft a new one by the time I got it back to him."

"Ah Charlie…" Don returned his notebook to the pocket inside his jacket. Then he stopped and looked up at his dad again. "How long ago did he lose it?"

"Well he didn't lose it, I found in the basement with all his-"

"Dad, how long ago?"

"Well let's see, maybe…a week ago, possibly two. And then I found it just a few days ago." Don stood up quickly and went to the door. "Can I assume you just had an epiphany that you can't share with me?"

Don paused in the doorway. "I'll call you as soon as I know something for sure, Dad, promise."

- - - - -

"Hummel!" Tad Hummel turned around and waved an arm over the sea of investigators. Don pressed through the crowd.

"What's up, Agent Eppes?"

"I need something from the house, was wondering if it's come through yet. It's a brown, leather planner with Charlie's name on it."

"Brown leather…yeah, you know, I think we dug that out of the basement a little while ago."

"Was it dusted?"

Hummel laughed and went towards one of the forensic team's vans, indicating that Don should follow him. "Are you kidding? I think we've dusted every thing we've pulled from this place."

"I take it you haven't found anything of note."

"Not yet." Hummel hopped into the van and sat down on one of the benches, reaching for a plastic tub full of items in bags. "Yeah, we thought we should keep this aside since there was concentrated vandalism on the basement."

Don took the bag from him and slipped the planner out. He flipped to the month of April, eyes glancing down the boxes full of notations and times.

_April 16_

_Dinner w/ Amita, 7pm_

"All right, thanks, Tad. Let me know if you find anything, right?"

"Of course, I'll keep you posted."

- - - - -

Don knocked on the open door of Charlie's office and Larry looked up from the sundial he was fondling absently. "Agent Eppes, to what do I owe this unexpected drop-in?"

"Hey, Larry."

Larry stood up, index finger still rubbing up and down the gold needle on the sundial. "I talked to Alan this afternoon, he stopped by here before going to a friend's house. He told me all about Charles and the break-in…" Larry wrinkled his eyebrows in concentrated concern. "I was told he's staying at the office downtown, and I wanted to stop by and check on him, but I wasn't sure what…if uh- that would be appropriate or safe or-"

"Oh, yeah, Larry," Don nodded. "Absolutely. You know, I think Charlie could really use the help and if not, he could certainly use the company right now."

Larry seemed to relax a little and set the sundial back on the desk. "Then I'll head over there now." Don smiled gratefully as the professor gathered up his coat and laptop bag. He paused, pointing a finger in the air. "Now…you probably came in here for a reason. Anything with which I can assist you?"

"Actually, I was just wondering if you knew where I could find Amita."

"Ah, Miss Ramanujan and I parted company at the cafeteria and she indicated she'd be heading to the library after that. So I'd check there first, and the astrophysics lab next."

"Thanks." Don turned to go.

"May I ask you something that's very possibly none of my business?" Don shrugged his assent. "In your professional opinion, are these people trying to make a point or do you believe they may…actually be sadistically intent after our young mathematician?"

Don thought about that a moment. "Well we don't know anything for sure yet, I mean it's all up the air. But I'll tell you this: I'm really hoping it's not the latter."

"Indeed…indeed…" Larry knitted his eyebrows, troubled. "Well. I'm going to go check on the professor myself."

"Thanks, Larry."

- - - - -

"Knock knock." Charlie turned around and found Megan standing in the doorway. "How's it going?"

"Okay," he murmured. "How'd the interrogations go?"

"Eh, not too good." She sighed, sinking into a chair. "I think the three of them have perfected the 'like I care' expression."

"And would your psychological assessment be in favor of their participation in a gang still?"

"Well, they fit the profile, but they almost fit- too well." She smiled apologetically. "That doesn't make sense, does it."

"Actually, it makes loads of sense." Charlie pointed to a tree diagram he was working on. "These are the preliminaries I've done for that flowchart, and they're all indicating the same thing: That these boys are, to put it simply, fakes. Their actions are perfectly planned."

"Some of these bombs were assessed as being pretty sloppy, though. I mean- CalSci is the best example, there wasn't even anyone in it."

"Oh, their actions may have been planned seamlessly, still there are flaws. But they're flawed in ways that a gang's plans ought not to be. I think they're attempting to redirect their actions to reflect on a different party. In this case, a gang."

"M'kay, you lost me back at 'they're actions are perfect and flawed'."

"Well- imagine you're in a dark room, and you see the beam of a flashlight shining on the wall up ahead. Now, using simple deduction, like location of walls, furniture or anything that could impede the beam's path, we can trace the light back to its source. What these boys appear to have done is shine the flashlight at a mirror. Now, we can see where the light hits the wall, but we're tracing the light back to the mirror, not the flashlight."

"But we've all ready found the culprits."

"All but one, so it would seem."

"Right, the fourth boy who got away at the museum."

"Using trigonometry and continuing with this reverse game theory tree I'm working on, I could potentially point to who we're after."

There was a knock at the door and the two of them turned. Charlie grinned, and Megan smiled when she saw a little of the weight lift from his shoulders. "Larry, hey."

"I'm sorry I didn't come sooner. I wasn't sure I would be allowed, but Don said it would be fine."

"Absolutely," Megan said. "It's good to see ya." Charlie just beamed.

"Now, what's this? You've reversed game theory to…situate it in a graph. Fascinating, very Lorenz of you."

"You're just in the time," Megan told him. "Apparently we're on the cusp of adding trig to the equation."

"Oh, geometry, I guess this is my lucky day." He smiled dryly at Charlie who laughed. Larry seated himself in a chair next to Megan's, placing his elbows on the table. "You look exhausted, Charles."

"I'm all right."

"Well, I can't imagine investigating your own…well, something that involves you personally, can be easy."

"It's not," Charlie admitted, looking at his shoes and fiddling with the chalk in his hands. "I just…know this is the only way it's going to be over, you know. If I keep working at it."

Larry put his chin his hands and gave Charlie an encouraging nod. "At a boy."

- - - - -

"Amita?" Her head came up quickly. "Sorry," Don said, easing himself into the chair across from her. "Didn't mean to startle you."

"No, it's okay," she smiled, placing a sticky note on the page she was reading to mark her place.

"How you feeling? Charlie told me you came down with that fever again."

"Yeah, I was mostly annoyed to miss a whole day's worth of study." She laughed, then turned serious as a thought hit her. "Hey, how is Charlie? I mean, I heard about his house being ransacked, but that's about it. Is he okay, I mean- did they take anything?"

"Naw, it's uh…he's fine, he's gonna be okay."

"Well which is it, Don? He's okay or he's going to be?"

He smiled a little. "Listen uh…I can't tell you too much right now, but I need your help on something."

She shut her book. "Sure, yeah."

"I was reading over Charlie's calendar from a few weeks ago, and it says here…uh, he scheduled dinner with you on the 16th of April. But then, my dad said he and Charlie just hung around that night, so…did you cancel?"

"Yeah, uh that was the day I…got sick." She looked away, suddenly uncomfortable.

"Amita?"

She sighed, twirling a finger around one of her curls. Finally, she leaned forward. "Listen…don't tell Charlie, okay?"

"Sure, yeah."

"Well…he asked me to dinner and said I should pick the place. If there was such thing as luck, mine would be the worst." She laughed ruefully. "I ended up picking a Cajun restaurant, and of course, after that I found out from your father that Charlie hates Cajun. So, I'd all ready made the reservations, and I didn't want him to find out."

"Why not?"

"Well, you know Charlie. He's such a gentleman, he'd have gone anyway, even though he hated it. I didn't want to do that to him, so I…told him I got the same fever that my sister had. I knew it was going around, I figured it was a safe alibi. And then I got it for real." She shook her head. "Incredible, isn't it?"

Don forced a laugh. "Yeah…did you make the reservations under your name or his?"

"Oh, his." Don nodded, adrenaline rising in his chest. "Yeah, he said if I picked the place, he'd pay, so I thought I should…Don, what is it?"

- - - - -


	7. Seven

- - - - -

"It's just basic triangulation, really. Simple application of sine law."

"Yeah, Charlie," Megan grinned at the equation-covered board. "It looks real simple."

"No, really. See- if SinA equals h over b, and SinB equals h over a, then h equals b times the quantity SinA and a equals the quantity SinA. Then we can-"

Don poked his head in suddenly. "Am I interrupting something?"

"Just Charlie trying to help me get the hang of something I've been horrible at since ninth grade," Megan said, wincing apologetically.

"Trigonometry is always complicated, Agent Reeves, there is no- no shallow end to the study of three-sided polygons."

Megan just laughed. Don looked around the room. "Did Larry stop by?"

"Oh yeah. He had a class to get to, though, so he left like ten minutes ago. Guess you just missed him." She turned around, noticing for the first time the expression on his face. "What's up, Don?"

"Uh, Charlie can I borrow Megan real quick?"

"Yeah sure-" Charlie stared at him, recognizing the tense lines around his eyes. "Don…what is it?"

"Nothing, don't worry about it. I'll be back in a bit." Charlie just nodded and watched Megan go. But he didn't go back to his whiteboard.

- - - - -

"I found the connection."

David shook his head. "Between…the three bombings?"

Don tossed Charlie's planner onto his desk and David picked it up, paging through it. "Amita made reservations for her and Charlie at the Cajun restaurant for 7pm on April 16th. She canceled it and Charlie stayed home that night."

Megan put a hand to her cheek. "How did they know-"

"They stole that," Don pointed to the planner in David's hands. "It went missing a few weeks ago, then reappeared in Charlie's basement. Dad found it."

"Hang on," Colby cut in. "That doesn't explain the grocery store. I mean, you said, your family shops at a completely different store."

Don shook his head. "Bad luck. They got the wrong store, but Charlie scheduled a trip into town on the 12th."

David read out loud, "April 12th, _drycleaners for D, car inspect., grocery run Kroger's_…the grocery store hit was a Kroger's."

"Actually, it's called 'Kroger' not 'Kroger's', but that isn't the store Charlie was referring to. Aldama Street Market, out by Highland Parks, that's store we've been going to since we were kids. Owned by a guy named Victor Kroger."

Colby shook his head in wonder. "So they misread his schedule, Amita canceled their dinner, he got sick the day of his lecture…man. Charlie's the luckiest man alive."

"Not exactly," Megan said, meeting Don's eyes and seeing the same thoughts there. "Means whoever we're after, they set off those bombs with the intention to kill."

David dropped the planner back onto the table. "Who would want to kill Charlie? What could-" But he stopped suddenly, staring at something over Don's shoulder.

Don turned around. Charlie was standing just a few feet behind him. "Charlie-" But Charlie spun on his heel as though someone had fired a shot at him, and ran for the door. "Charlie!" Don called after him, then turned back around and pointed to Megan. "I want him in protective custody tonight." Without another word, he snatched up his coat and took off after his brother.

Megan glanced up at Colby who looked over at David. David just tapped the toe of shoe against the floor, thinking. Finally, he looked up. "Let's get on it."

- - - - -

"Charlie?" Don stopped outside, looking up and down the sidewalks that led from the FBI's front doors. He didn't see anyone at first, then he noticed somebody in a suit jacket and blue jeans disappearing around the corner to his right. He took off at a run and turned the corner to find Charlie standing on the curb. He looked as though he'd meant to call a cab but had forgotten how.

"Charlie!" Don ran up to him, grabbing him by the arms.

"Ow- Don," Charlie tensed, but more-or-less let his brother hustle him down the sidewalk and back inside to the FBI's lobby.

"What were you thinking, man?" Don demanded once they were inside. "Running off like that, in the open? What's wrong with you? You can't just go off alone right now, don't you get that?"

"Don't I get that someone's trying to kill me?" Charlie demanded shakily. "Yeah, yeah I get it. It's very clear, okay?"

There was a long pause. Don straightened the wrinkles he'd left in his brother's jacket. "Listen…I didn't mean for you to find out that way."

"Oh, so you were going to tell me."

"Hey, that's not fair. I have been very honest with you."

"Yeah, yeah I know-" Charlie said tightly, pressing his knuckles to his forehead and ducking his head.

Don watched him carefully. "You okay?"

"I don't feel very…my head's sort of spinning." He groped the air beside him, looking for a support.

"Okay, okay…" Don grabbed the flailing arm and directed him across the lobby to a chair in the waiting area, seating him gently down. "Just take it easy, all right?"

"No, no it's not all right," Charlie insisted, bracing his hands on his knees. Don put an arm over the back of his chair and let him talk. "Someone's trying to kill me, Don. Kill me." He seemed to have trouble making the words sink in. "Someone out there is determined to get rid of me, somehow, and I…I- I don't know why, or how or…" His voice started to shake, and he fell silent.

Don couldn't think of anything to say at first. Finally, he inched a little closer, his voice taking on a jovial tone that surprised them both. "Hey, you remember old Mrs. Delkin? In seventh grade?"

Charlie glanced at him. "Yeah, she…taught World History."

"It was the first class of the school year, and I, as usual, was determined to be this total wise-guy. I mean, I knew I was going to end up in the principle's office again, but apparently I had too big a head to care. What was uh- that quote from Einstein, the definition of insanity…?"

"Doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results."

"Yeah, that was…me." Don laughed and the first sign of a smile showed on Charlie's tired face. "And uh…I think Mrs. Delkin kept me after class for like- three weeks straight…?"

"You said that she hated you."

"And you remember what you told me?" Charlie just looked at him. "You said, 'she's just jealous cause you're so funny'." He smiled. "I think that was the most flattering remark I ever got from my whiz kid brother. Never forgot it."

"What are you saying Don," Charlie asked quietly, the smile disappearing. "That I should be flattered these guys want me dead?"

"Sometimes…stories don't have a point, bro," Don told him, standing up and offering a hand. Charlie took it and stood. "Sometimes you just bend spaghetti. Right?"

- - - - -

Don came back to the group at a stride. Megan stood up. "How is he?"

"About as good as you'd expect," Don said quietly. "You guys got anything?"

David hung up his phone. "Just talked to Hummel, not a fingerprint, footprint or any other kind of lead."

"All right, thanks for checking. Megan, you talk to boys at the safe house yet?"

"Ten minutes ago, they can extract him whenever you're ready."

"Well I promised Charlie he could work late, so I'll oversee that tonight."

Colby ran up to them and handed a folder to Don. "Janitor's uniform, the one from the dumpsters? It's not a prison uniform, wrong material and stitching style, apparently. Also the numbers written on the front pocket don't register with either of the LA prison facilities."

"Okay, so officially nuke the gang theory. What about the interrogations, you guys talk to our museum guys again?"

"Yeah, about that…" Megan glanced at Colby. "We've now received official requests from all three lawyers."

"They're all asking for a release, ASAP, before they have to 'take it to court'," Colby finished, scowling.

"Well Jim's not going anywhere," Don said firmly, "we have physical evidence connecting him to this case."

"Yeah," Megan agreed, "but I still don't like the idea of putting any of those thugs back on the street. Especially since we don't know their motivation for going after Charlie of all people."

"Then that's something we need to ascertain, and fast."

Megan watched him. "You want me to talk to Charlie?"

Don shook his head. "He wants to try and figure this out with another game theory diagram, and I want to give him the shot."

Colby spoke up. "Didn't he all ready try to use game theory?"

"He's doing it on himself this time, trying to assess what possible motives our boys may have had for targeting him."

"You sure he's up to that?" David asked quietly. "The work?"

"To be honest," Don stood up and tossed the forensics report onto the desk. "I think the work's the only thing holding him together right now."

- - - - -

**FBI Headquarters, Briefing Room C, 12:46 am**

Don stood in the doorway for awhile, watching Charlie work. Normally his brother would be scrambling from the board to the desk regularly, eyes darting through his equations, marker constantly squeaking. Like he was painting or composing a concerto. Alive with excitement, vigor for the work. He was still moving as fast as ever, but there wasn't excitement of any kind about him. He kept stopping to run a hand through his hair or pinch the bridge of his nose and squeeze his eyes shut tiredly.

Finally he did something Don had never seen him do before (write the number 3 backwards, erase it and then rewrite it backwards) and Don decided it was time to intervene. He knocked on the wall next to him and Charlie jerked around like someone had tapped him on the shoulder.

"Hey," Don nodded at him. "Thought I'd let you know, the boys from WITSEC are going to be heading over here any minute, so…if you want to get your stuff together-"

"I'm not going to the safe house," Charlie said quietly and went back to his whiteboard.

Don sighed impatiently, crossing his arms. "You have to, Charlie."

"No, I don't."

"Yeah, you do- if you wanna stay alive, you do." Charlie turned stiffly around again. "Well, it's true, buddy," Don went on, almost pleadingly. "Look, I hate it but this is the way it's gotta be. Hopefully, it won't be for long. Now, I arranged with Hummel to send some of your stuff over from the house-"

"I'll just work through the night, then."

"No, Charlie-" Don crossed the room and took him by the shoulders. Charlie attempted to turn away, putting his marker defiantly to the board again, but Don grabbed it out of his hand. "Hey, listen, gimme that." He capped the marker and put it down. "Now look, you'll have two around-the-clock agents with you, the house is sealed up, no one can get to you there, that's-" he smiled a little, "that's why the call it safe house. Right?"

Charlie swallowed hard and glanced away. Don realized with a pang of sympathy that he looked like he was about to cry. When he finally spoke, his voice was high and raspy. "Can't uh…can I just crash at your place?"

Don seemed taken aback. He just looked down at him for a long moment, indecision flickering in his eyes. Finally, he furrowed his eyebrows, and said as casually as he could, "Yeah. Okay, sure, you can sleep on my bed, I'll take the sofa."

"I'll have the sofa," Charlie said, and smiled wearily.

Don grinned back. "Okay. Well listen, I'll call WITSEC and then why don't we get something to eat. Wait for Hummel to drop your stuff off."

Charlie cast a tempted glance at his equations. "I should probably keep at it-"

"No way, you're getting out of this stuffy room right now. C'mon." Don marched to the door and turned. Charlie hovered by the whiteboard. "I mean it, Chuck, move it." Grinning enough to satisfy his brother, Charlie trooped out of the room and Don shut the door behind him.

- - - - -

Megan stared at the ceiling for twenty seconds before realizing what had awoken her. She turned over as her phone rang a third time, slapping the alarm clock's indiglo. 1:02 am. Groaning, she grabbed her phone and flipped it open. "Reeves speaking." She sat up. "What…no, they told me- you can't do that. Not without…all right, all right. Yeah. I understand. Thank you for contacting me."

She hung up and sat in the darkness, nibbling absently on the phone's antenna. Then shaking her head, she went to her speed-dial. "Don, it's Megan. You still at the office? I've got some bad news…"

- - - - -

"Yeah…okay…Thanks, Megan. Don't worry, I've got it taken care of. Yeah. See you in the morning."

"Don?" Charlie poked his head inside Don's office door. "What're you doing sitting around in the dark?"

"Just making a call, didn't see the point in turning the lights on."

"Ah. Well, Ted- Ted Hummel?"

"Tad."

"Tad, right. He dropped off a few bags for me, about five minutes ago, so I'm ready to head out when you are."

"Okay, just let me make one more call. I'll be there in a sec." Charlie nodded and ducked back out of the office. Sighing heavily, Don looked up a number on the notebook next to him and dialed it.

"This is Craig Springer."

"Hello Mr. Springer, this is Don Eppes, FBI. I just got the news about Kyle Ross and Ken Dryger's release."

"Ah yes. I apologize for the delay in notification, we got some wires crossed up here-"

"Okay, do you not understand that Kyle confessed? He accepted the charges as an accessory and agreed to assist the FBI in its investigation."

"I understand that, Agent, but we have been contacted by their parents, their schools and their lawyers, and they all say what you all ready know; that you cannot contain them without physical evidence. And Kyle withdrew his confession, did he not?"

"Yeah-"

"And he never made an official statement."

"Yes, but we do have physical evidence against Jim Blake."

"Jim Blake is to remain in federal custody until this case is solved and he is either convicted or exonerated."

"But Kyle and Ken were found with Jim and ran from FBI agents-"

"The students had school-approved passes for a study trip to the museum at which they were apprehended. They saw men with guns come running after them, they bolted. Your case just isn't concrete, Agent Eppes, and I think you know that. You can take them into custody for resisting, you cannot incarcerate them on a hunch." Don stopped, at a loss. He heard Craig Springer sigh on the other end. "I'm sorry there isn't more we can do to assist the FBI in their investigation, but legally you cannot hold those boys any longer."

"Even if we have suspicions that there is a colleague of theirs on the loose to whom they will probably return? The life of an esteemed mathematician, a great asset to the FBI, is at risk now."

"Then I don't understand why I just got a call from Witness Protection telling me you sent their team back to base. Agent Eppes, if you're really, truly concerned that these two boys are a threat to your professor, then you really should let WITSEC do their job."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Springer, but I can't do that."

"Then you're out of options for complaint, Agent."

- - - - -

Charlie rolled over on the couch and stared up at the ceiling. He could hear light clinking coming from the kitchen and soon Don returned to the living room, a glass in one hand, a mug in the other. "Your ice water, Professor," He said, setting the glass down on the coffee table. Charlie sat up and took a drink, slipping a coaster under it before putting it down again.

He nodded at the mug in Don's hand. "What is that, coffee?" Don shrugged. "You know you shouldn't drink caffeine right before going to bed. You'll be up all night."

"Aw, caffeine never affected me much anyway." Charlie gave him raised eyebrows and Don shook a defensive finger at him. "Hey that's not fair. I was ten, okay? I'd never had anything that strong before."

"Okay," Charlie mouthed and lay back down, smiling. But as it seemed prone to do lately, the smile faded slowly. "I simply have to figure this out, Don. All of it, what…what their agenda is, who's doing this and- and why. But I just can't seem to distance myself from the situation enough."

"That's understandable."

"Yeah…but not excusable."

"You know something?" Don stood up and tossed an afghan to him. "You need to get some sleep. I'll see you in the morning, all right?"

Charlie nodded and unfolded the afghan. He smiled. "This is one of mom's."

Don squinted at it. "Oh yeah, I guess it is."

"She always put little daisies on the corners. Yeah see, right there." Charlie put an arm under his pillow and laid down, eyes sparkling brightly in the darkness.

"Night, Charlie" Don said, turning the lamp off.

"Night," Charlie responded sleepily.

An hour later found Don standing by the dark living room window, peaking between the heavy drapes to stare at the distant lights of LA. He glanced down at the road and noticed a black, two-door SUV parked down the road a ways. He stepped back from the window, shutting the curtains.

The room was so quiet, the sound of him dialing on his phone made Charlie stir in his sleep. He crept back out of the room to stand in the kitchen instead, and when he spoke his voice was so low it was almost a whisper. "Hey, it's Don. Just wanted to check in."

"All's clear down here."

"Can you see the front door and windows okay?"

"Yeah. I'll check around back in an hour or so, but I'm pretty sure I'd see anyone coming before they get here. You know, I've never seen your apartment building before now? Could be because you don't, you know, come here much."

"Laugh it up."

"Colby and I have a bet going- does the manager recognize you when you come home, or does he tell you visiting hours are over?"

Don smiled to himself. "Thanks for doing this, David."

"Don't mention it, man."

Don hung up and paced back into the living room, slipping into the chair adjacent to the couch. He watched his brother sleep for awhile, trying once more to reassure himself he'd done the right thing. Then he grabbed his coffee and took a long drink. Just four hours or so, then the sun would start rising, and he could quit worrying so much.

- - - - -


	8. Eight

- - - - -

Megan was hoping if Charlie didn't hear her she could watch him work a little while, but it only took him a few minutes to notice her there. She smiled. "Hey, Charlie. You sleep okay?"

"Yeah, I think I zonked out ten minutes in," he grinned, jotting a few things down then setting his marker down.

"So did Don drive you over?"

"Yeah, he's just getting-" The door suddenly swung open and Don came in. Charlie waved a hand at him. "Never mind."

Don looked up from the steaming cup in his hand. "What?"

Charlie shook his head. "I'm telling you, you shouldn't have made that coffee right before bed. You barely slept last night, don't think I didn't hear you get up like four times."

Don just shrugged and took a sip of his coffee. "So whatcha got?"

"Actually, it's coming along pretty well, I think- my head's a little clearer, you know."

"Heard from Dad yet this morning?" Charlie held up four fingers and Don raised his eyebrows. "Really?"

"Once to make sure I had clean clothes, once to ask me where you and I were eating lunch and twice just to 'check in' as he put it."

Megan grinned at them. "Alan's a caring father, you have to give him that."

"You know it would have been more poignant if the first call hadn't been at seven in the morning."

"That why you look so worn out?"

"No, working on this for the last four hours, that's why I'm- I'm starting to glaze again. Although, I think I may have a umn…I might be getting somewhere."

"Uh-huh." Don nodded. "Good, well…don't let me keep ya."

Megan and Don left, talking quietly about a forensics report, and Charlie went at the board like it was a lifeline. Maybe it was.

_Actions _82.151

_Location_ 66.243

_Business _68.832

_Personal _77.273

A half-hour later, he stopped, marker frozen over the glossy white surface. His heart pounded in his ears. He stepped back, surveying his work, but the same conclusion kept resurfacing over and over. Hesitantly, he set the marker down, cleared his throat, and left to find Don.

- - - - -

Don counted heads briefly. "All right, we're all here Charlie, what's up?"

"I may know how to find our suspect."

Megan took a seat. "Is it a point-to-the-map result or more of an 'imagine a game of hide-and-seek' kind of thing?"

"That's just it," Charlie said, pacing in front of the whiteboard, knuckle to is mouth in thought. "It's not a target at all. There are…simply too many factors."

"Just work off what you know, Charlie," Don told him. "Like what that lecture you were giving was on. I mean, that could have something to do with this, right? Your Ramsey Theory…you know, computer password thing?"

Charlie scuffed his feet against the floor like an edgy colt. "Yeah, sure it could. So could the other twelve lectures I've given over the past couple months, or the classes I've held in the last week, or-"

"Woah, wait." Don cut in calmly. "You mean to tell me you can sift through, what, like a million factors for each of our suspects, but you can't work the math for your own analysis?"

"I'm analyzing myself, Don."

"Yeah, I know. So there's no guesswork."

Charlie seemed agitated. "No that's just it, it's enormously more complex with personal considerations thrown in. I've crunched the numbers, I have calculated probability from each angle I can, it's over 50 likely in each direction." He fell silent for a moment. When he spoke again, his voice was barely audible. "I can't figure out who's trying to kill me. I just- it'll take too long, there's too many options."

"Well…" David glanced around. "We can give you as much time as you need, Charlie-"

"It's not- it's not that, David, thank you." He leaned against the wall beside the whiteboard, trying not to snap. Don didn't like the way this was beginning to feel.

"Charlie? What's…what's goin' on, what're you thinking?"

"Don," Charlie's voice cracked a little. "I need to uh…if I settle into a routine again, if I- make everyone believe that we think Jim Blake's our guy, then whoever we're after will come to us."

Don just stared at him, fear backed by determination glinting in his face. "Now wait a second, Charlie."

"I ran the risk and security factors on my locations, CalSci has the highest for both."

"Charlie-"

"We'd have familiarity, access and surprise on our side, that's you know, gotta count for-"

"Hey- stop, all right?" Charlie's words stumbled to a halt. "I'm not using you as live bait, kay buddy? It's not an option."

"Why not."

Don sputtered impatiently. "I can't- I can't even begin to list the reasons why not, Charlie."

"It's the only alternative-" Don was shaking his head vehemently which seemed to irritate his brother. "I've run the numbers over and over, I can't figure this out!"

"Don't give me that, you can figure anything out with your numbers."

Charlie sank, defeated, into a chair and folded his hands in his lap. "Not this time. My uh- my expertise has finally met its match, I think." He looked up. "I gotta do this."

"Charlie." Don raised his eyebrows indicating it was a closed issue. "It's not gonna happen."

Charlie gritted his teeth. "Why can't you-"

"Charlie," Megan broke in, kneeling beside his chair. "Don's right. Okay, and I know you think this is the only way you're going to make this go away, but…we can't put your life on the line to save it. What good would that do, right?"

"And what's going to happen if you don't," He asked, jaw clenched. "Am I going to go to some shack in San Marcos till we somehow find this guy? And Dad," he looked up a Don. "You gonna send him to? And Larry and Amita- Don, it doesn't stop. You're not even safe so long as we have no idea why these people are after me. It's not just my life we're dealing with here."

"Well you're the only one they've come after, so you're the one I'm worrying about for now, Charlie."

"So far." Don just looked at him then looked away. The room fell silent for awhile, the lack of options making the air tense. Charlie stood up slowly, and went to stand behind Don.

"Listen," he said. "I wish I could figure this out, but I c…I can't. I'm the only one who can run this personal analyses accurately, and I can't- see the numbers, the connections…" he forced a light laugh. "I can barely see straight lately. Don?"

Don didn't turn around. "I gotta…I need to think. I'll umn…I just have to think." He left the room, and the four of them stood about awkwardly. Then Charlie gathered up his computer and slipped out of the room as well.

Colby was the first to break the silence. "You really think this is our only choice, or do you think Charlie's just not being rational anymore."

David just shook his head. Megan glanced up at them, at the chair Charlie had been sitting in, then at the door. "I'll go talk to Don."

Colby stood up. "I'll take Charlie some coffee, maybe it'll clear his head a little."

"Yeah." Megan stood. "Think someone should call Alan?"

David sighed. "I think…one shell-shocked family member at a time."

- - - - -

"Mind if I come in?"

Don, who's forehead had been resting on his palms, looked up. "Sure," he said noncommittally. Megan slipped inside, shutting the door behind her. She sat down and waited for him to open the conversation, but he seemed completely lost in thought.

"You know, Don…" she said gently, "this must be like a nightmare for you and your father, but…I've got to say, you've really handled it well. Both of you."

"Yeah?" He rubbed his eyes tiredly. "Well, you know. The Eppes family always had this unwritten rule. When things get ugliest, you put on a brave face for Charlie. Dad does it, Mom did it…I'm sort of a pro at it now." He laughed humorously, running a hand over his hair. "Ah man…you wanna know the truth, Megan? Not a minute goes by I don't want to panic. You know, when I think about…some guy's out there just waiting to take pot shots at my brother. And why? I mean- the guy's a mathematician. It's precisely why I didn't want him working with the FBI in the first place."

Megan chewed her lip, letting his thoughts settle. "What're you going to do?"

He opened his mouth to speak, shut it, took a long, steady breath, and sat up straight. "I can't even imagine what Dad'll say if I let Charlie go through with this."

"But- if it's the only option…"

"It's not, I could…I could put him in Witness Protection. We could just try to solve this thing without him."

"I sort of got the impression- Charlie didn't like that idea. I mean, why else would you send WITSEC back to base without him? Especially now Ken and Kyle are back on the streets."

"Yeah, well that's the thing, isn't it. I either push him in front of an almost certain attempt on his life, or I force him to go away for what could be weeks, even months since we won't have his help and he doesn't want to get Larry and Amita involved."

"Either way we end up scarring him." She shook her head. "So I guess-"

"Just looking for the lesser of two evils now," he finished, nodding.

Megan began to reply but the door suddenly swung open and Colby came inside. "Don, it's Charlie."

- - - - -

"Let go!"

"Charlie, just-"

"David, let go-"

"Look I'm just asking you to think this over."

Don came in to find Charlie and David in what looked like a tug-a-war over Charlie's backpack. "Hey, hey what's going on here?"

"David's-"

"I'm trying to keep him from running down to the firing range!" David insisted, letting go and sending Charlie flying back several steps.

He righted himself, zipping the bag shut. "I could use the practice if I'm going to take a piece with me."

Don reached in a snatched the backpack out of Charlie's hands. "With you where?"

"I'm going to CalSci."

Don groaned into his hands. "Charlie…"

Charlie's came spilling out like he couldn't inhale till he'd said them all. "Don't Don, it's my choice. And you can't force me to stay here or go into hiding. I'm not a kid, this is my choice. It's my life, I can put it on the line if I wan to, so either I'm returning to campus with the FBI behind me or without." He paused, panting. "And all things being equal, I'd really like to have you guys there."

Don stared at his brother for a long time, and Charlie stared right back, trying for all the world to appear in control. But Don could see beyond the façade of unabashed determination and it made his chest ache. Suddenly, he stretched out his arm and returned Charlie's backpack to him. "All right."

"All-" Charlie's eyebrows raised. "All right? You're agreeing?"

"Well you're not giving me much of a choice, Charlie," Don said resignedly. "When are you next expected at CalSci."

"Uh…" He checked his watch. "I've actually got a class this afternoon that I…tentatively left open."

"You're not gonna want to put your students in the middle of this," Don said, and Charlie shook his head vehemently. "So let's come up with a good reason why you can't do the class, we'll send you to campus this afternoon." He sighed heavily and clapped Charlie on the shoulder. "Okay, let's go get you set up. And you are not taking a gun with you."

"Uh Don…what about Dad?"

"One thing at a time, kay?"

- - - - -

"How you doing, Charlie?"

Charlie jumped and put a finger to his earpiece. "Yeah, uh…fine."

"Okay," Colby said patiently on the other end. "You need to stop reacting when I talk to you."

Charlie dropped his hand. "Sorry. Did Megan get a hold of Larry and Amita?"

"They're going to steer clear from you for the afternoon. We'll just see how this goes. Remember, stick to as many vacant places as you can." Charlie nodded, hesitating as he reached the library doors. "What's up?"

"Does umn…is Don there yet?"

In the van, parked beyond the bushes just outside CalSci's gates, Colby glanced at Megan. "Not yet. Hang in there, okay? He'll be in position any-"

"Right here, buddy." Charlie relaxed as Don's voice came through his earpiece.

"Hey, you."

Don smiled. "Hey. You at the library yet?"

"Yeah, can you not see me?"

"Not yet, I'm out back. You're gonna go through the library and out into this grassy spot back here."

"You mean the garden?"

"Is it? Okay, sure."

Charlie glanced around cautiously, still stationary. This was his idea. He should be pursuing it whole-heartedly, not freaking out every step of the way. But he couldn't make his hands stop shaking. "This guy's MO, it's bombs, right?"

"Yes it is," Megan's voice answered. Charlie ducked his head, nodding and trying to pull himself together. "It's okay, Charlie. We didn't give him enough time to plant a bomb, he's either going to have to change his MO or risk not having you out in the open like this again."

"So we're gambling."

Don answered him after a moment of static. "If anyone can beat the odds, it's you. Just remember the key phrase."

"'Where did I put my seminar notes'," Charlie recited.

"Just say the words and we'll move in." Charlie took a deep breath, put his weight behind the library door and slipped inside.

"Okay, I'm halfway through," Charlie whispered, trying to get his knees to stop trembling. "Should I-"

"Professor Eppes!" Charlie spun around to see a young man tearing up the hallway after him.

Don sounded anxious. "Charlie what's going on?"

"Adrian," Charlie greeted him, trying to smile. "What can I do for you?"

"You said that you'd help me with my theorem?"

Charlie put his hand to his forehead, flustered. "Oh. Right- yeah, sorry. Umn…listen, now's a really bad time, Adrian."

"Oh please, Professor, just a few minutes? This is counting towards my grade, I mean- this is like 20."

"You have always received good grades, I don't know why you're so concerned."

Adrian twisted the rim of his jacket. "But Professor St. James says that most of the grading is based upon style." He winced. "Please, just ten minutes?"

Charlie's ear vibrated with Don's voice. "Don't, Charlie, you don't want to get your students tangled up in this."

Charlie smiled pleasantly. "Tell you what. Why don't you meet me in my office later this afternoon-"

"I have to finish this before tomorrow morning," Adrian pleaded. "If you can just help me with this one point, I'll be able to write the theorem tonight. I'll work till three if I have to, but I am determined to score well on this test."

Charlie bit his lip, glancing around. "Ten minutes."

Don switched Charlie's line off, calling to the van. "Megan, get me anything you can find on this Adrian kid, just in case."

"There are…" he heard keys clicking. "There are two Adrian's at CalSci."

He hit Charlie's switch again. "Charlie, we need Adrian's last name."

"This way then, Mr. Culla," Charlie said nonchalantly on the other end.

"Megan?"

"Searching now…"

"Can we go down to the Senior's lab?" Adrian asked, glowing with relief. "It's empty right now and I could test my theorem."

Charlie paused in supposed consideration, waiting for Don's feedback. Finally, Don came through on the com. "Okay, that's just across from the library, I'll move around so I can keep an eye on you."

"All right, that should be fine. But just ten minutes or so."

"Thank you Professor Eppes, you won't regret this."

Charlie led Adrian down the hall and out the side door, summarizing the difference between theorems and corollaries in the most basic terms he could. Don could hear the strain under his voice all the while. He hoped Adrian missed it. Colby grabbed the binoculars and watched as the two of them crossed the long sidewalk and ducked inside a different brick building. "Don, he's inside."

"Copy. Moving positions now."

"You know," Charlie said as they climbed the stairs. "We're coming up on Professor Fontana's office."

"He's currently working on his theory of magnetic control," Adrian replied. "He was telling some of us about it the other day."

"Did you know that the model he's working on is so strong that it's been blowing out his electronics? He told me he can't even keep his computer in the office right now." Charlie shot Adrian an amused look. Don caught the tip.

"I hear you, buddy," he told him. "You guys, we're going to lose contact with Charlie for a minute here."

"Got it," Colby answered back. And sure enough, seconds later, there was nothing but static.

Don waited five solid minutes without a word. Then he couldn't wait anymore. "Charlie, you there?" The static continued. "Charlie, if you hear me clear your throat." Still nothing.

"Maybe the magnets blew out his earpiece," Megan suggested.

"No he'd have told us if that was gonna happen. Charlie? Charlie, do you copy me?"

- - - - -

Charlie's pulse quickened as the static continued long after they'd left Professor Fontana's office door behind them. He attempted to keep his cool as he and Adrian finally entered the Senior's lab. He needed to fix the problem, get out, and get a hold of Don.

"So what exactly seems to be the problem?" he asked, seating himself uneasily in a chair by one of the many steal tables that decorated the lab.

"Well," Adrian said quickly, "we have to have a logical, working theorem, correct? And it's meant to be unspecific, uncategorized. And yet…I think I've created a corollary."

"You know all this would probably be simpler, Adrian, if you could show me your theorem?"

Adrian blushed. "Oh, right, sorry." He pulled out his bag and dug around inside for several moments. "I know…I had it…"

"You need some help?" Charlie began to rise, but suddenly stopped. Adrian had found it what he was looking for.

"No thanks. Please have a seat, Professor."

Charlie sat slowly in his chair again. His heart pounded like thunder in his ears, his chest, his very fingers vibrated. And his eyes couldn't seem to leave the small, silver handgun that was aimed directly at him. He tried to swallow the lump in his throat. "Adrian-"

"Shh…" Adrian shook his head. "It's my turn to talk this time."

- - - - -


	9. Nine

- - - - -

"I'm not waiting anymore," Don checked his ammunition and stood.

"Don don't," Colby insisted. "You blow this wide open, we may never get this guy out here."

"And he could be taking his chance right now," Don said angrily. "David, where you at?"

David, dressed as a gardener just outside the library, put a hand to his ear. "Do you want me to change positions?"

"Man listen to me," Colby said quickly. "What if his earpiece is just taking awhile to recover or got some wires knocked? We rush in, guns blazing, and he may take his moment anyway. Just bring a few feds down with him."

David shook his head. "We should at least wait ten minutes, I think Charlie would stay on the clock."

Don thought a moment. "Megan, you got anything on this kid?"

"He's clean, Don. Straight-A student, good family situation…I'm getting no motive."

"Yeah, I bet Jim Blake didn't have anything either till he helped bomb the lecture hall."

"I definitely see the similarities, but it's not enough to bust Charlie's cover."

After a lengthy pause, Don finally rubbed his forehead and nodded. "Okay, uh…all right, you let me know the minute you find anything that even smells suspicious. David? Move around outside the building, I'll meet you there. If anything seems wrong, we move in immediately."

"Copy that, Don."

- - - - -

"Adrian, lis- listen to me."

"Shut up."

"Just…listen-"

"Shut. Up…"

Charlie attempted to swallow again. "You don't- want to be doing this, okay, you-"

"I said shut up!" Adrian smacked the barrel of the gun against the table, denting it. Charlie fell silent, his head pounding. "You wanna know why you, why you're at the other end of a loaded gun right now, then shut up."

He paced away, and it occurred to Charlie too late that that may have been his one window of opportunity. But soon Adrian was facing him again, gun trained on Charlie's head.

"You think that hard work and good parents gets you everything, right, you think that working your tail off every day will eventually earn you respect and a high-paying job. Well guess what, Jim, Kyle and Ken and me? We got there and figured out that places like CalSci, Stanford, UCLA- they're not full of hard-workers. They're full of Professor Eppeses. Genius like you who usurp us of all our chances at life just cause you were born that way." He gritted his teeth and Charlie swore he saw tears rising in his eyes. "We'll graduate, walk away with Bachelor's held high, but do you think one of us will be magna cum laude? No. Just the ones who got this far without trying. They'll be the exceptionals, the astoundings. The lucky ones."

With a tremor of panic Charlie remembered something Megan had once said about criminals working out of emotion being the worst. _You just- you can't predict them, they'll do anything their emotions drive them to. The thinking doesn't come till after._ He found himself staring down the barrel of Adrian's gun again. "So…you're angry. Because I was born different?"

Adrian scoffed, smiling humorlessly. "Yeah. Yeah, that's it, Eppes, poor little guy, born a genius." He leaned over the table and Charlie shied away. "So I'm good with computers, right? I find some kids like me online, Californian students in the same boat as me. And we've all been hearing about the same great lecture coming up." He stood, gesturing grandly in the air as though hanging a huge banner there. "Extremal Combinatorics: Ramsey Theory and Computer Security! Rotating passwords using math equations. Genius, just like all of Professor Eppes' other work. The end to all those password thieves and spyware nerds. No more music theft, photo theft, online identity theft…" His voice dropped. "No more student hackers changing their grades."

Charlie felt his chest tighten. "You…you were…" He took a deep breath. "Adrian, you're such a good student. You didn't need any of that-"

"Yeah, talk it up Einstein." Adrian stood back from the table, fire in his eyes, gun trembling in his hands. "You try being a _normal_ person sometime, see how you like it."

"This was about my lecture,. my…my Extremal Combinatorics theory?"

"It was the end of four students' futures."

"But you all ready stole Jim Blake's out from under him," Charlie insisted, a little of the strength returning to his voice. "He's going to prison for assisting in an attempted assassination. And if you…" he cleared his throat. "If you kill me, you're throwing away your future as well."

"They'll never have enough evidence to convict me, once I'm through." He smiled nastily and walked slowly towards Charlie, gun raised. "It's all just paperwork and records. How do you think I got this?" He waved the gun. "With the right computer-savvy, paperwork and records can be altered. You're gonna find Ken, Kyle and Jim's criminal records have disappeared, for one thing. They weren't there in the first place, it was all part of pinning this on gangs."

"But you can't have meant for them to get arrested-" he stopped. Adrian was wearing a nasty smile. "You…led us right to them. You knew we were coming, that's how you got away." Charlie said slowly.

"I knew you'd be in on the investigation. I fed your game theory all the info it needed to lead you to the Museum of Art. Why do you think I was ready to bolt with the feds got there? The boys didn't know it, but they knew I had a plan, that's why they didn't tell you anything useful."

"Kyle confessed-"

"Yeah, and led you right to our backup plan." Adrian laughed. I sounded more like an unpleasant cough. "Another 'super secret code' in the dumpster. You fell right for it, found out I'd ransacked the house, and in typical Professor Eppes fashion, you offered yourself up as live bait." He smirked. "Because you just can't stand being in the dark. And yet I fooled you, didn't I."

Charlie watched him, mouth dry, eyes locked on the once-promising student's angry face. "Didn't I," Adrian repeated, nodding with the words. He reached into his pocket and dropped a small, black chip that Charlie recognized as a random pulse transmitter. Adrian was jamming his earpiece. "Where's your natural ability now, huh? Was it worth putting kids like me at the back of the line?" He swung the gun around at the ceiling suddenly and fired. Charlie recoiled, ducking his head instinctively as plaster and dust rained down on the floor a few feet to his left.

When he looked up, the gun was pointing at him again, thin wisps of smoke trailing from the barrel. Adrian ran his tongue across his front teeth, nodding rhythmically. "Was it worth all this, Professor?"

- - - - -

Don ran towards David, gun swinging in front of him. The two of them positioned themselves on either side of the doorway. "David, you get anything?"

"Seems quiet. I stuck my head inside, but I don't even hear voices. They must have reached the lab they were going to." Don nodded.

"Don?"

He put a hand to his ear. "Yeah, go ahead Megan."

"I'm pulling up Adrian's class records now, but I'm getting the same kind of thing. There's nothing in here to indicate…"

Don waited a few moments. "Megan?"

In the van, Megan sat back in her chair, voice steadily rising urgently. "He left campus for the afternoon on the 25th of April on sick leave. Requested four student passes for the LA Museum of art."

Don's pulse surged. "That's our guy. Everybody-" A loud bang broke the silent from somewhere in the building and both Don and David whirled. Don didn't hesitate. "Shots fired! Shots fired! Move in, move in, move in!" David agreed to cover him and he tore inside and up the stairs.

- - - - -

"L-listen, listen to me-"

"Stop telling me to listen, _you_ listen for a change! This isn't about you, not really, so don't even try to shrink me or talk me down or discuss my parents or my future or any of that crud I know you're just dying to throw at me. Fact is, if you're alive, my life, and the life of my friends is over. So…I'm sorry. But I have to remove you from this equation."

He pulled back the hammer and Charlie flinched, sitting stiffly in the chair. Adrian advanced slowly, both hands around the gun, trying to keep his aim steady. Charlie didn't even think of looking for an escape route. All he could think was how sorry he felt for his dad, for Don. It wasn't fair to lose him like they'd lost their mom. And the static screamed in his ears like a taunt. He was cut off, waiting for Adrian to work up the nerve to follow through.

And then the pounding in his ears became louder and louder till he realized it was footsteps. His and Adrian's eyes went to the door just as it burst open.

- - - - -

What Don saw when he came running into the lab, gun raised, would stick with him for years to follow. Charlie sat, pale and shaking, in a fold-out chair as Adrian stood before him, gun extended, searching for the nerve to squeeze the trigger.

Despite the horror of it, Don didn't even pause. "Charlie, get down!"

Adrian whirled back around and fired just as Charlie threw himself to the floor. The bullet whizzed over his head, shattering a case of vials across the room. Don fired at Adrian who also dropped to the floor, scrambling on hands and knees behind huge liquid nitrogen tank. He leaned around the side of it, fired three times, then ducked behind it again.

Don and David easily dodged the bullets and David returned fire while Don ran to the other side of the room where Charlie was lying on the floor, hands over his head. Don grabbed the table Charlie had been sitting behind and flipped it onto its side, like a shield. He grabbed Charlie by the shoulder, shaking him hard. "Charlie! You okay? You all right?" Charlie lifted his head off the floor, breathing so hard he couldn't reply. Don grabbed his other shoulder and realized he was trembling uncontrollably. "Easy, easy. Are you hit?" Charlie shook his head weakly. "All right, you just stay put and keep your head down. Keep your head down, you hear me?" Charlie nodded and Don pushed his head to the floor again, standing up quickly and firing twice towards the nitrogen tank.

He scrambled from the table to crouch behind a desk just a few feet away. He heard David fire once, then Adrian fired once. Adrian's was definitely a small handgun. Beretta, maybe, Bobcat if he had to guess. Seven…eight rounds? Don started counting in his head. One shot before they came in, one at Charlie…

Don gestured to get David's attention. He tapped the barrel of his gun and held up two fingers. David nodded and shot at the floor near the tank. They heard Adrian jump behind his shield, firing once in a David's direction. Just as he did, Don stood up and shot once at the floor. Again, Adrian shot in his direction. They heard a _click click click_ coming from behind the tank and knew it was safe.

Don stood up, keeping his gun trained on the tank. "You're empty, Adrian. Come out with your hands on your head." Adrian didn't move. Don nodded at David and they both ran for the tank. Just as they did so, Adrian jumped to his feet and took off for the door. David stopped, fired and missed. Don kept on running.

"Adrian! Stop!" He chased the boy through the lab, Adrian toppling chairs and shoving books and vials on the floor trying to hamper Don's pursuit. Up ahead, Don saw the glowing light of an emergency exit. Adrian flung himself at the door, but it didn't give. Stunned, he scrambled for the release on the handle and Don snatched his opportunity. He stopped, aiming at the back of Adrian's head.

"Move an inch and you're getting a bullet through your head." The boy froze. "Put your hands behind your head. Right now." Adrian continued to stand there and Don could tell his mind was working furiously. "Maybe you think you're smarter than your math professor, Adrian. Think you can you outwit a bullet?" Adrian let go of the door and slowly put his palms against the back of his head.

"That's it, now walk towards my voice." Don pulled his cuffs out just as Colby came running up behind him.

"I'll get him," Colby said promptly. "Go check on Charlie." Don took a step back, handing the cuffs to Colby and after a brief, indecisive pause, ran back through the lab. "Did you learn your lesson? Huh, Adrian?" Colby asked conversationally, slapping the cuff around Adrian's right wrist.

Adrian gave a derisive laugh, slipping into cool mode. "Yeah. Never mess with a guy who's got a lousy fed for a brother."

"I was thinking 'changing grades is more trouble than it's worth'." He cuffed his left hand and spun him around. "But I liked yours better."

- - - - -

Don returned to find Charlie sitting on the floor, head in his hands as Megan knelt next to him, saying something too quietly for Don to hear. David came up to him then, out of breath. "I tried to pursue, but-" he clapped Don on the shoulder. "You're just too fast for me, man. Figured you had a better start."

Don smiled vaguely. "No problem, I got him."

Charlie looked up when he heard Don's voice, something like apprehension mixed with confusion on his face. "Is Adrian…did you-"

"He's okay." Don got down next to Megan. "I mean, well you know…he's facing attempted murder charges."

Charlie nodded, staring into space. "Another promising future ruined. His and Jim's."

"Yeah." Don gave his best 'reflecting on that' expression for Charlie's benefit, but to be honest he could care less about Adrian's future just now. "Hey, what do you say we get you home."

Charlie looked uncomfortable, putting a sweaty hand to his forehead. "Everything's kind of swimming. My…my knees feel really weird."

"Yeah?" Don gave him a casual smile. "It's probably just adrenaline, you'll be fine. Here, Megan can you-"

"You bet." Don wanted to say, _take your time, don't rush_. Fact was, Colby and David would be coming through here with Adrian any minute and Charlie had had enough trauma for one day.

Megan grabbed one arm, Don the other and between them, managed to get Charlie onto his feet. Once there, Charlie found a little of his strength. Despite his objections, Don put Charlie's arm around his neck and helped him to the door and down the stairs. Once they were on campus, Charlie was walking normally again. "The ground's not tipping anymore, you can let go," he said calmly, and Don complied.

They walked in silence towards the iron gates of CalSci. "We'll take my car, if that's okay," Don told him. Charlie didn't reply. "What's up?" _Stupid question, Eppes,_ Don thought irritably, but Charlie's answer surprised him.

"I was just thinking, shouldn't I stop by and tell Larry and Amita everything's fine now?"

"If you really want to," Don granted. "But Megan can brief them. Anyway, I was thinking we could go to the house, I could try making omelets again, call Dad…maybe watch that Best of the Summer Olympics thing. Start cleaning the place up a bit?"

Charlie considered that. "Could we just get pizza?"

Don laughed. "Sure, whatever. Hey, I'll even stomach sausage if you want."

"You don't have to do that."

Don glanced at him, "Yeah I know. I don't mind."

"No seriously, you don't have to. I'll eat anything…" he stuffed his hands awkwardly in his pockets. "Once I…you know, feel like I can eat again."

There was an uncertain pause, and then Don grinned. "Okay, peppers and onions it is."

The first ghost of a smile showed on Charlie's face. "You got it."

Don put an arm around his shoulders and they made their way across the parking lot. "You're gonna be okay, Charlie."

- - - - -

"I still say he's lucky," Colby said solemnly, handing his finished report to David who put it with Megan's and his own. "Don's statement done yet?"

David shrugged. "Thought we'd give him another day or so. I figure the department can understand the temporary delay, considering. And I think Charlie would be the first to say it had nothing to do with luck."

"A statistic improbability," Megan said with a smile.

David nodded. "Guess that .2 on a statistic has to come from somewhere, right? A slim chance is still a chance."

"Still," Colby went on, "the grocery store bomb was a misinterpretation, the restaurant an unpredictable cancellation, the lecture hall a one out of one-hundred chance, with Charlie getting sick and all. And you know- I still don't get why he ransacked the house. Did the kid just miss Charlie, cause you think by that point he would have at least made sure he was home," he jibed.

"He meant to freak Charlie out, get him back to a normal routine," Megan told him. "Adrian said he was playing Charlie all along. He played his friends too, although he thought he could get them out of it. Kyle worked right into the whole deal with his phony confession, Jim with the coded note too." She shook her head. "All a huge ploy to convince us it was a gang at work."

"They must've known someone had to go to jail," David said.

"I don't think getting arrested had been in their original plan, Adrian apparently told Charlie that he planted all the information he needed to track them to the museum, but I think he failed to share that with the other three. Listening to his confession this afternoon, though, I think he honestly figured he could work the entire system and get his friends off."

"But Jim's pre-law, you would think he'd know better."

"Those four boys had a lot more they were thinking about by that point," Megan said quietly. "Maybe it started as an attempt to climb the educational ladder, but it became a vendetta. They just wanted to see the prodigy math professor fall."

Colby thought about that a moment, then picked up his coat and briefcase with a heavy sigh. "Nah. I still say Charlie's lucky."

Megan smiled tiredly. "Yeah."

- - - - -


	10. The End

- - - - -

**5 Days Later…**

"Dad, you down here?" Charlie paused in the doorway of the garage. "Hey, Larry, I thought you'd left."

Larry and Alan both looked up from a pile of boxes they appeared to be pouring over. Larry put a pile of folders on the floor and shrugged. "I was on my way out, but I saw your father working and thought I could be of assistance."

"I'm trying to sort out the garage."

Charlie shrugged. "Again?"

Alan pointed at him in that 'don't you start' sort of way. "You know, after we fixed the house up again, I got sort of on this spring-cleaning streak."

"Again," Charlie repeated, and this time Alan just smiled, conceding the point. Charlie glanced over at Larry, who had returned to sorting through the colorful folders. "Megan have other plans tonight?"

"Our plans just aren't until later." Larry's cheeks flushed rose. "Chez Plaisir isn't open for dinner till seven."

"Oh really," Alan interjected with an air of accentuated elegance. "Chez Plaisir, huh?" He glanced at Charlie who grinned back. "Grand piano, red flowers, coat and tie?"

"That's the one, yes."

"Need a loaner?"

Larry laughed. "Generous, Mr. Eppes, but I am a professor of significant matters, I do own a set of formal attire."

Charlie hid a smile. "I hope you have black shoes to match by now, after Professor Grayd's ten-minute lecture on your brown loafers, Larry."

"Well you try explaining the lack of true significance color and shade hold on the cosmological level to a professor of Quantum chromodynamics, you're bound to meet with controversy of some kind."

"Admittedly they did clash spectacularly with your otherwise completely black and white ensemble…"

"You know Charles, someone once said that 'in retrospect it become clear that hindsight is definitely overrated.'"

Charlie squinted at him. "Sounds familiar…?"

Alan glanced up at them. "Alfred E. Neuman."

"Oh," Charlie gave his father a surprised glance. "I guess I've never read his work."

"He's a cartoon. Mascot for MAD Magazine."

"Yes, well…" Larry laughed and Charlie attempted to process the ridiculous notion of Fleinhardt even holding an issue of MAD Magazine. Larry made for a hasty segue. "I was actually about to go and find you Charles."

Charlie got down on his knees with them, leaning over the box they were digging through. "What's up?"

Alan pushed the box towards him. "I'm trying to sort out some of Don's old stuff."

"You're still finding stuff of Don's down here?"

"This surprises you?" Alan said wryly, and Charlie just grinned. "Listen, could you maybe take this box upstairs, let me know if you see anything that's yours and give the rest to Don. Oh, and maybe take this stack of newspapers, throw them in the recycling bin in the kitchen?"

Charlie hefted the box off the floor. "Can I get you gentlemen anything while I'm up there? Lemonade, coffee, anything?"

Larry raised an arm. "I would personally love some lemonade."

"Yeah, that sounds good, thanks Charlie."

"No problem-" He pointed at Larry. "Sugar, ice?"

"Ice no sugar for me."

"All right, ice and splenda for you Dad?"

"That'd be fine."

Charlie went upstairs, set the box and newspapers on the table next to the door and was about to head to the kitchen when he noticed a piece of paper sitting near the top of the box. The phrase "Award of Excellent Reflexes" caught his eye. He pulled the page out. It appeared to have been typed up on a very old type-writer.

_This is to certify that **Don Eppes **on this day,_

_**October 14th 1985**,_

_has proven himself a true expert and beat the seven-year-standing record on V.A. Kroger's **Pac-Man**. I, V.A. Kroger am proud to present "Diehard Don" with this_

_**AWARD OF EXCELLENT REFLEXES**_

_I would also like to put in my bid now that class of '88 yearbook state him as "Most Likely to Become James Bond". Signed, Viktor Kroger, Manager_

A small smile crept from one corner of Charlie's mouth to the other. Judging by condition of the paper, Don had folded it roughly into eighths and stuffed it away in a box somewhere. Possibly he'd done it the night he'd come home to find his kid brother sitting on the kitchen counter with a black eye and busted tooth.

The sound of a car driving up broke Charlie from his thoughts and he hastily buried the certificate in the box and scrambled off to the kitchen. He busied himself with making the lemonade until he heard the front door open.

"Hey, Dad? Charlie?" The door shut with a gentle slam and soon the sound of Don rifling through the box reached Charlie's ears. After a moment of indecision, Charlie set down the pitcher of lemonade and walked into the living room, wiping his hands on the back of his jeans.

"Hey, Don." He said cheerfully, but Don didn't reply at first. He was frowning down at the certificate which he'd unfolded and held between both hands. Charlie couldn't quite read the expression on his face, but he was fairly certain it wasn't a 'fond memory' expression.

Don looked up suddenly, dropping the piece of old paper onto the stack of newspapers. "Oh hey, Charlie. Where's Dad?"

"Sorting out the basement."

"Again?"

Charlie shrugged, pointing to the box. "He asked me to take that up here, said some of it was yours." Don nodded, glancing briefly down at the certificate. Now Charlie knew exactly what was going through his head. Don opened his mouth to say something, but Charlie cut him off. "Oh, man. Did I leave those newspapers on the table? I did didn't I." He rolled his eyes and swiped the stack of newspapers up, taking the certificate with them. "I'll just toss these."

Don stood around in the living room, listening to the sound of Charlie forcing the pile of newspapers into the tiny recycling bin. Brow still furrowed, he asked, "Why'd Dad still have all those anyway?"

"Oh you know Dad," Charlie called from the kitchen, then came around the corner again, carrying two glasses of lemonade, a strange look of relief on his face. "He just doesn't get that sometimes life's better off when you just…let stuff go. You can't hold on to things forever, I mean- look at what that did to Adrian. Holding on to all that blame and- and guilt. It destroyed him, you know, I…" he blinked hard. "I don't want to be like that."

Don met Charlie's hesitant eyes with a smile. "Yeah. Yeah me neither."

They exchanged a look of silent agreement on the unspoken issue, and never brought it up again. "So-" Don jabbed a finger at the two glasses. "Lemonade, huh?"

"Yeah, sugarless and splenda."

"Larry's still here?"

"Helping Dad."

Don shrugged his coat off. "Well good, we can't feed leftover pasta to guests."

"Actually Larry's taking Megan to Chez Plaisir tonight." Don raised his eyebrows and Charlie nodded. "I know, coat and tie."

"Go Professor Fleinhardt," Don said, impressed.

"Unfortunately, that means the disgusting pasta is fair game."

Don glanced around and walked quickly past Charlie towards the kitchen, a mischievous glint in his eye. "Not if we order pizza first."

Charlie hurried after him. "But now I can't take the lemonade down."

"Why not?" Don demanded, phone already in hand.

"Cause Dad's going to see me with beverages and he's going to remember that, oh yeah, we haven't eaten yet this evening. It's image-association, the mind does it automatically."

"So? Just run in real fast, put the drinks down and run back up," Don said conspiratorially. "Go on, hurry up." Charlie was still hesitant and Don put the receiver to his shoulder. "This will be the third time it's been reheated, Charlie."

Charlie winced. "Fourth."

Don swung back around to the phone. "Yeah, name is Don Eppes. I'd like to order one large hand-tossed pizza, half peppers and onions, half-" He nodded at Charlie. "Pepperoni?"

Charlie shook his head in wonder. "Oh you are so dead when Dad finds out."

Don ignored him. "Pepperoni it is."

* * *

_**The End**_


End file.
